High Noon Showdown
by IluthraDanar
Summary: One of our Heroes sends a killer to another time, where killing is commonplace. Will he find a way home? Or will he find a way to fit in? Rated for everyone, unless noted. Reviews accepted!
1. Chapter 1

**I thought of this one while watching a Jimmy Stewart western this morning. **

**I do not own Heroes**

**High Noon Showdown**

**Part One**

The town had been fairly quiet, that is, until Rafe Matheson arrived. He was a gunslinger, and a damn good one. Mostly, he wasn't too much trouble, and the sheriff would leave him alone. But lately, he was in a bad mood. In the saloon, he not only demanded whiskey without paying, he would harass the pleasure girls, who were usually generous with their talents, but Rafe refused to discuss money. None of them would put out for free. When he grabbed a younger one and started to drag her upstairs, the sheriff figured he'd better do something.

"Come on, Rafe. Leave the girl alone." He started to follow the pair, but Rafe pushed the struggling prostitute up ahead of him, and turned to face the elderly sheriff.

"Who's going to stop me, Dagget, you?" He laughed at his own words, finding the idea amusing at best. He looked down at everyone in the saloon. Not a one of them had the courage to fight him. They all knew he was fast with his pistol, and unmerciful to anyone who stood in his way. Rafe turned back to his object of desire, and continued up the stairs.

"Rafe! Stop there. I mean it. You've been causing the citizens of this town enough trouble this week. I think it's about time you left." The sheriff had his hand poised above his pistol, ready, in case he had to shoot. It was a thoughtless error in judgment. He felt the hot sting of a bullet as it entered his heart. Looking down, he saw the small red spot on his shirt, his life's blood spreading from the hole even as he fell to his knees. The last thing he saw before he died was Rafe's smiling face.

The saloon was silent. Everyone was paralyzed with fear, hoping to be invisible to the gunman. Rafe went on upstairs with the frightened girl in tow, pushing her into one of the vacant bedrooms, and locking the door behind them.

On the floor beneath, the saloon customers tried to act as if nothing had happened. The piano man played a tune, while more than one man ordered a drink to calm their nerves. Only one went over to the sheriff, checking for any signs of life.

"He dead, Doc?" one cowboy asked.

"'fraid so, John. He didn't have a chance." The town's doctor looked around. "Hey, you two want to help me get Dagget to my office?" He pointed to two men, who quickly responded to the doctor's request. More than like, they wanted an excuse to leave the saloon without looking cowardly.

...

He woke up with dirt in his mouth. Spitting, he rose up off the ground, and looked around. What was that smell? Horse? He brushed the dirt off his clothes before heading for the open door. What did he remember? Last thing was that Japanese guy, saying something about controlling time and space. He touched his shoulder and everything went black. That is, until he woke up...here. But where was here?

Once outside he looked onto a street bordered by wooden buildings. It reminded him of some Old West movie set. As a child, he had watched westerns on TV, but they weren't his cup of tea so to speak. And he had never ridden a horse. Living in the city rarely afforded such an opportunity as that.

_What had that Asian guy done to him_, he wondered. This was obviously not New York City. Or Los Angeles. Everything looked so rustic, and so real. This was not a movie set. The street was dirt, with horse manure everywhere. Puddles of water made for muddy patches that he had to step over to avoid messing up his shoes.

He noticed several men carrying a body across the street, and walked towards them. As he caught up with them, he asked, "What happened?"

The doctor looked up at the tall stranger as he opened the door to his office. "The town sheriff was shot," he replied, before ordering the men to take the body inside. "You new around here?" He looked the stranger up and down, noting his clothing and manner. He was definitely not from around here. There was something so out of place about him. "I'm Doc Wilson."

"Sylar," he responded. "Sylar...Gray. I'm from...the East coast actually. New York."

"You're a long way from home, Mr Gray. What brings you West?"

"I'm not sure, yet." He looked around at the clapboard buildings, the horses tied to wooden posts, and the general filth. He was a city man, and that is where he wanted to return. "Is there someplace to stay?"

"Sure. The hotel is down the street. Pretty cheap too. Four dollars a week including breakfast. Mrs Lawson makes a pretty good meal too. I think you'll find it a nice place." He hesitated a moment, before continuing. "Are you passing through, Mr Gray, or looking to stay? Will you be needing work?"

"I don't know if I'll be here that long, Dr Wilson. But maybe I'll try that hotel. Thanks." Sylar stepped off the walkway, and headed in the direction of the hotel.

Wilson watched him as he left. Who was this stranger? He wore odd clothing, and didn't seem to have a gun. Or a horse, since he hadn't asked about a livery stable. Maybe he came in on the stage. Wilson shook his head, and went inside to prepare Sheriff Dagget's body for burial.

When he reached the hotel, Sylar entered the small lobby area, and saw an older woman dusting a table. She turned when she heard him come in. "May I help you?" she asked Sylar.

"Um...Dr Wilson said you might have a room?" He glanced around warily, for what, he wasn't sure. He was in a strange place, and his senses had to be on constant alert.

"How long would you be staying, Mr..."

"Gray. Sylar Gray. Maybe a week for now. After that, I don't know." How was he going to get home anyway? If that Japanese guy didn't bring him back, he was pretty much stuck here.

"Well, I'm Mrs Lawson, Mr Gray. Come this way and you can register. It will be $4 for the week. Breakfast is every morning at 7am. If you're late, you don't eat."

Sylar smiled at the warning. "I understand, Mrs Lawson." She had no idea who she had under her roof. If she did, she wouldn't be giving him orders like that. But for now, he'd go along with the way things ran here.

"Top of the stairs, to the right, second door down. The facilities are at the end of the hall. I hope you'll be very comfortable here, Mr Gray." As she went back to her work, she thought that he was terribly handsome man and so tall. His clothing was a bit odd, and she wondered at him wearing only black. Once, she saw a gunfighter all dressed in black. But if Doc Wilson recommended him, he must be alright.

He held the key that she had handed him. "Thank you." Seeing that she was going back to her dusting, Sylar walked upstairs and found his room. It was decorated simply with a bed, a dresser and a wash basin on a wooden stand. Two towels hung on the stand. There was a picture on the wall, and that was all there was in the way of decorative appointments.

Sylar left the room, locking it behind him, although he couldn't imagine why, having no belongings. He found the bathroom, and used the "facilities", as Mrs Lawson had called it. He washed up, kicking himself for forgetting the towel. He brushed the water from his face, and shook his hands dry. Running his slightly damp fingers through his hair, he thought this place couldn't be too far from the 20th century, to have indoor plumbing. But it was nowhere near the time or place he had been taken from.

Sylar left the hotel in search of...what? Hearing noise from a building across the way, he went in that direction. He saw that it was a saloon, and figuring he would slake his growing thirst, he went on inside. Everyone stopped to look at him, as any strange face would draw attention in a small town where everyone was known. He ignored them, and walked up to the bar. "Do you have any bourbon?" he asked, figuring a request for tea would draw odd looks.

"Do you have any money?" the bartender asked in return, not trusting a stranger with credit.

Sylar fished in his pockets for some coins, before realizing his money would have dates on them that didn't even exist yet. How was he going to pay for anything with 21st century money? He concentrated a moment as he held the coins in his hand. When he pulled his hand from his pocket, he saw that they were now gold. He tossed one on the bar. "I have gold," he said.

The bartender greedily picked up the coin, and put it into his pocket without perusing it too closely. "That will buy you a whole bottle, Mister."

Never one to get drunk, Sylar shook his head. "A glass will do, thanks."

The bartender shrugged, pouring bourbon into a glass and handing it to the lunatic stranger. Maybe he was rich Easterner who would be a good customer so he said nothing more lest the man ask for his change.

Just then, a commotion came from upstairs. "I thought I told you to get the hell out of my room!"

Sylar turned to see a young girl rush downstairs. He noticed one of her eyes was bruised, and she had obviously been crying. She sat at a table, while he saw another girl get a wet cloth and tend to her friend, uttering reassurances to her. Sylar saw a man coming down the stairs, and watched him as he reached the bar, loudly demanding a drink. He didn't care for the man already. "Why don't you hold it down, buddy."

Rafe swung his head around to find himself staring at someone he'd not seen here before. He was tall, and didn't appear to be afraid of him, like so many of the townspeople were. "You were referring to me?" he asked haughtily.

Sylar didn't even look at Rafe as he responded, "I guess so. I don't see any other jackasses here."

Rafe grabbed Sylar's shoulder, forcing the stranger to face him. In the next moment, he found himself pressed against the wall, peering at the surprised faces of the saloon customers, who couldn't believe what they'd just seen. The man in black had waved his hand, and Rafe had gone flying until he hit the wall. Now he seemed stuck there.

Sylar let his antagonist loose, watching as he slid down the wall. No one went to his aid. Sylar then gulped down his drink, and left the saloon. He heard people whispering as he left. Smiling, he knew he could be running this town in no time. But first, he'd have to get rid of his very mortal competition.

**A/N: This will only be a two shot or maybe a trilogy. I tried to write it as a one shot but it got too long. So I'm splitting it up. **

**I really need to stop coming up with new ideas, so I can finish my other stories. I beg any loyal readers for their patience**.

**Reviews accepted with gratitude.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sylar learns more about the town he's been transported to, **

**while one person attempts to learn more about Sylar.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part Two**

When Sylar left the saloon, quite a few people commented how he never once looked back, as if he weren't afraid of being shot in the back by Rafe. His lack of fear impressed many of the townspeople.

Rafe noticed how unafraid the stranger seemed, and he didn't like it one bit. It just made him want to find out who this man was, and whether or not he posed any threat to him. He was feeling a bit generous, since he'd had his way with that whore. He'd let the stranger live, for now. But he would make it damn clear that no one was running this town but Rafe Matheson. He left the saloon, only to find the stranger in black, standing across the street near the Doc's office.

Sylar saw Rafe looking at him from outside the saloon doors. He leaned against a post as he smiled his usual I-couldn't-care-less smile. Let the gunslinger check him out. He might even be willing to show him more of what he could do to him. Too bad the bastard didn't have an ability. Killing was better when he walked away with something.

Doc Wilson stepped outside his office, just having finished up with Sheriff Dagget's body. The town's woodworker had a spare coffin, not very fancy but usable, ready for the doctor. Wilson made note of Sylar and Rafe staring at each other. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a cigarette case. Taking out a cigarette and lighting it, he went over to the tall man. "I wouldn't challenge that one, Mr Gray."

"Not to worry, Dr. Wilson." Sylar crossed his arms, just to show how unconcerned he was.

"Just call me Doc. Everyone does." He held out the case to Sylar. "Want one?"

Sylar shook his head.. "No, thanks. I don't smoke." He shifted his whole body away from Rafe, pointedly ignoring him now. "You can call me Sylar, Doc."

"An unusual name...Sylar. But then I have the feeling you're an unusual man."

Sylar straightened imperceptibly. "What do you mean?"

"You just seem out of place here. Why would an Easterner come to the West without any preparation? How did you get here? Do you have any belongings with you?"

Sylar gave him a warning look. "It's not really polite to ask so many questions, Doc."

Doc Wilson smiled broadly. He didn't want to rub this man the wrong way. For some reason, he was more leery of him than Rafe. He was familiar with Rafe's kind. But this one... "I'm sorry, Sylar. You have to admit, you're not quite a fit here."

Sylar grinned. Running his hand through his hair, he asked, "Where is here, anyway?"

"You're in Bowdry's Creek. Named after the man who founded the place. Now I know you aren't sure if you'll be staying long, but if you did, have you thought about what you'll want to do? Well, like what did you do back home?" He knew he risked making Sylar angry at more questions, but he really wanted to know.

Sylar didn't think it would be any harm to tell the doctor only part of the truth. "I was a watchmaker. I repaired timepieces, jewelry, that kind of thing."

"Hm, old man Evans repairs timepieces in his little shop down the street. I don't think he'd like the competition."

Sylar decided to mention the one thing that he'd hoped would change his life and hadn't panned out, thanks to Noah Bennet. "I used to be an agent for the Federal government."

"You mean like a Pinkerton?" Doc Wilson straightened up. Now maybe this could go somewhere. The town needed a new sheriff. Was this stranger the man to do the job?

Sylar knew that Pinkertons were Federal detectives who would often hunt down outlaws. They were notorious for being relentless in their searches. "Kind of like that, yes."

Doc noticed the dust on his black shoes, reaching down to brush them clean. "Ever thought of being a sheriff?"

Sylar chuckled. "You mean like here." He glanced over at the saloon. Rafe had already gone back inside. "I suppose I could think about it."

"Ever used a gun?"

Sylar thought back to the few times he had. "I have, but I don't really...like them." He couldn't tell Doc that was because he didn't need one, without telling him why.

Doc wondered if he had the wrong idea about Sylar. How could a Federal agent not use a gun? He wasn't giving up though. Something told him that if anyone could do something about Rafe Matheson, it would be this Sylar fellow. "I'm hungry. Care to join me for supper?"

Sylar readily agreed. He hadn't eaten since...he'd forgotten since when. "Is there someplace we can go?"

"Potts and Pans. A little restaurant down the way." He stepped off the walkway and headed down the street, with his companion at his side. "We're really growing, Sylar. That's the reason that we want the criminal element to stay away. Times are changing, and there's no room for outlaws in a civilized world. Don't you agree?"

Sylar smiled at the irony of such a question being directed at him. "Sure. Whatever makes the world a safer place to live."

The two men entered a small place that had a comfortably decorated main area. Doc led them to a table in the middle of the room, where two paper menus lay. Sylar picked one up. After perusing their choices, Sylar thought, _simple meat and potatoes diet. _But the offerings seemed substantial, judging by what a few other customers were eating. An elderly woman drying her hands on a small towel came over to the table. Sylar decided to let Doc order for them, since he had no idea what to try.

"Mrs Potts, this is Mr Gray, a visitor to our town. I thought he might like to try your special. Uh...could you make that two?" Doc asked, winking.

"Sure, Doc Wilson." She looked from the doctor to Sylar, smiling. "Welcome to town, Mr. Gray. Hope you're hungry. My customers never leave here with empty bellies."

Now that food was mentioned, combined with some delicious smells coming from the kitchen, Sylar did feel a gnawing at his stomach. But what would food in this time taste like? Not that it mattered. As the saying went, he felt like he could eat a horse, only now the saying would fit.

The woman took the small paper menus from Doc, saying, "Alright, that'll be two specials. I also have some fresh baked bread. I'll bring you both some."

"You make the best bread in town, Mrs. Potts," Doc said, smacking his lips, teasing the older woman.

"Oh, Doc, you're too easy to please." She laughed, then left the table to go to the kitchen.

After awhile, Mrs Potts, obviously both cook and waitress, brought each of them a large plate holding a grilled steak and boiled potatoes. She placed a warm loaf of bread in the middle of the table, along with a small bowl of churned butter. She returned with two cups of steaming hot coffee, but when she saw another customer come through the door, she left them on the table near Doc to go tend to him.

When Sylar saw that Doc's attention was elsewhere, he reached out his hand and one of the cups slid towards him. He tasted it, and decided that coffee in this time left something to be desired. He cut into his steak and ate a piece. He stopped chewing, his eyes widened.

"Something wrong with the beef, Sylar?"

"No, Doc." He chewed and swallowed. "It's delicious! Must be the lack of preservatives and growth hormones." He took another bite, relishing the rich meat flavor.

"Growth what?" Doc asked, confused by Sylar's words. It only confirmed the strangeness surrounding this man.

Sylar waved his fork. "Nothing," he mumbled, chewing his food with enjoyment. He speared a potato piece, eating that with relish as well. This was not the processed crap he ate back home. It was fresh food, cooked over an open flame. The butter, unlike what he was used to, was white, melting readily on the warm bread.. "This is really good. We have nothing like it back home."

Doc found it hard to believe that New York City had food that didn't compare to their simple fare. Maybe Sylar just hadn't eaten in awhile. Hungry men will find even cold soup and day old bread a treat.

Mrs Potts returned to the table, bearing two plates of pie. "Peach pie, fresh baked this afternoon. Would you like more coffee, gentlemen?"

"I'm fine. Sylar?"

He shook his head. "Mrs Potts, how did you know that peach pie was my favorite?" He took a big bite, swallowing it immediately. Licking his lips, he ate another and another, until he had cleaned the plate. "Doc, I'm stuffed. That was the best meal I've had in ages. Thank you, Mrs. Potts."

"Thank you, Mr Gray. Some people haven't the manners to even say thank you, let alone compliment my cooking." She smiled all the way back to the kitchen.

As Sylar pulled some coins from his pocket, one fell to the table. Doc Wilson noticed it and picked it up. He turned it over in his hand, perusing the faces. It was gold, that was obvious, but what was very strange was the design. He'd not seen one like it. One side had the face of a man, and the other side had an eagle, wings spread. But that wasn't what caught his eye. Ever observant, Doc Wilson noticed the date stamped on the coin. It wasn't possible, he knew, but it said 2009.

Sylar saw Doc looking over the gold coin. He held out his hand, closing his fist around the cool metal when Doc dropped it into his palm.

"What is that date on there, Sylar?"

"That's not a date, Doc. It's...a series number. These gold coins were made special in New York. Numbered by series." He looked up at the man from beneath dark brows. "That's all." he said, attempting to sound as casual as possible. He'd have to be more careful in future.

Doc decided he'd accept that explanation, because in his heart, he knew it was lie. His mind, on the other hand, wouldn't accept that as truth. It just didn't make sense. "Tell you what, Sylar. You should take those coins to the bank, exchange them for currency. It'll make it easier to pay for things, and you're not likely to get asked questions."

Sylar looked Doc in the eyes. He sensed only sincerity in the man, and he wasn't sure why it even mattered. "You're right, Doc. I would be less likely to throw money away too," he remarked, thinking about how he'd paid for a single glass of bourbon with what might have been $20. He didn't know what gold was worth in this time. "Can you tell me where the bank is?"

"Do one better. I'll take you there myself. You might need someone at your back. A local I mean." Doc Wilson rose from the table, tossed some money down, and bid a goodbye to Mrs Potts. He then led Sylar to the only bank the town had.

Upon entering the bank, they were greeted by a nice looking young man behind the counter. "Hiya, Doc! How have you been? I heard about...Sheriff Dagget. Sad. That Rafe...someone has to do something about him."

"Well, first, we have to get a new sheriff. Eddie, this is Sylar Gray, a newcomer to town. He's not sure how long he will be staying, but I thought he might convert his gold coins to currency. Make it easier for him to pay his hotel bill with Mrs Lawson."

"Sure, Doc. Hello, Mr Gray. Now how much gold do you have?"

Sylar pulled out all of the coins in his pocket. He had a mix of quarters, dimes and nickels. He placed them on the counter, and waited for the clerk to weigh them. Before Eddie took them, Doc noticed that the "series" numbers varied between 1999 and 2009. They sure looked like dates to him, but he wasn't about to call Sylar a liar.

"You have quite a bit here, Mr Gray. At about $20 an ounce, you'll get roughly $65. $64.85 to be exact."

That wasn't as much as he'd hoped, but Sylar knew he could make more gold any time. For now, it would get him a few weeks at the hotel and food. Maybe he'd get some clothes. "That will be fine." He looked over at Doc, who suddenly realized with embarrassment that he'd been staring at Sylar. He smiled and turned away while Sylar gathered up his money.

"Well, gentlemen, unless you have any other business, I'll be closing up now."

"No, Eddie. You have a good evening," Doc said. He then left the bank, with Sylar close behind.

"Doc, it's getting late," Sylar said. "I'd better get back to the hotel. I think tomorrow, I'll need some new things, a change of clothes for one thing."

"Tomorrow morning, we'll go to breakfast after Sheriff Dagget's funeral service, and then later, I'll introduce you to the owner of the mercantile, Miss Emily. Her father owned the store, and when he died a year or so ago, he left it to her. It'll have just about anything you need. And anything you don't find can be ordered."

Sylar scanned the street of the town. Music and laughter floated from the saloon. Tied horses snorted and kicked at the dirt, or snoozed lazily. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he'd have thought he was in an old John Wayne movie. Was that time traveler going to leave him here forever?

"You look like you've never seen a town like this. I know we're not as sophisticated as New York City, but we have our good qualities. I hope you decide to stay awhile."

"You'll be the first to know, Doc. Thanks. Good night." Sylar stepped up onto the porch of the hotel, and went inside.

"Good night." Doc replied. His eyes followed Sylar as he entered the hotel. What was it about that man that mystified him so? And those odd coins. Why wouldn't he just accept the given explanation as truth? He ran his fingers through his hair and proceeded back to his office. It had been an interesting day. After a good night sleep, he'd see to setting up the sheriff's funeral. Dagget had no family, so Doc decided to take care of the arrangements himself. Most everyone in town would be there. Once that was done, he'd be free, having no patients right now. Then he'd try to find out more about Mr Sylar Gray.

**A/N : Ok, it looks like this will be longer than anticipated. Writers know that sometimes, their characters can take over a story. Doc wanted a bigger part, so the story will be longer than 2 or 3 chapters. But I am simultaneously working on my other two stories. **

**Thanks for reading. Reviews accepted gratefully.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Doc offers Sylar a job one he would be perfect for.**

**Sylar meets another town citizen.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part Three**

Sylar had anything but a restful sleep. His tall frame was too long for the bed. The best he could do was to lie diagonally across it, but that was only part of the problem. These beds were made with springs. Large metal springs that made loud squeaking noises every time he shifted position. After tossing and turning for an hour, he lay on his back, sighing deeply, his hands pressed against his eyes.

_Damn!_

It was another hour before he finally drifted off to sleep. It seemed like just a few minutes later, when he was awakened by the sound of a rooster crowing. So it wasn't a bad dream. He really was in the past. And he had to meet Doc for breakfast.

Sylar got out of bed, dressed and headed for the bathroom. He hated taking a bath and putting his dusty things back on, so he just washed up, and headed downstairs. Mrs Lawson saw him and told him that he'd missed breakfast.

"Funeral this morning. But I'll be happy to fix you up something when I get back." She felt bad that her new tenant wasn't going to be able to eat because of the service for the sheriff.

Sylar groaned when his stomach rumbled its emptiness. Would he be able to wait until Doc returned? He'd said they would be having breakfast, but how long would the funeral take? He was surprised to see Mrs Lawson come up and hand something to him. It was a napkin. When he opened it, he saw two rather large biscuits inside.

"That'll tide you over, until you can eat later, once the café has opened." She patted the hand that held the napkin, and went to her room to finish getting ready.

Sylar noticed the freshness of the still warm biscuits, and taking one, bit into it, savoring the flavor and moistness. He'd had nothing like this back home. Leaving the hotel, he stepped outside, the early morning sunlight causing him to squint. Indoor lighting upstairs depended on oil lamps and wall sconces, although the downstairs areas seemed to have electricity. He wished he'd had a pair of sunglasses.

Finishing Mrs Lawson's biscuits, he headed for Doc's office, and knocked lightly on the door. He pushed it open and stuck his head in. "Doc?"

"Sylar, come in. I'm almost finished with Sheriff Dagget." Doc was busy making final adjustments to the body lying in the simple wood coffin.

Sylar saw two men standing to the side, waiting. He watched while Doc told them they could go now. As soon as they left with the coffin, Sylar asked, " When is the service?"

Doc washed his hands in a small sink near an examination bed. "In 15 minutes. Will you be coming?" He rolled down his sleeves, buttoning the cuffs as he waited for Sylar to answer.

"I...didn't really know the sheriff." Sylar had killed many people, but he had never stuck around for the subsequent funerals. They made him uncomfortable anyway.

"Suit yourself. As soon as it's over and the cafe opens, I'll meet you for breakfast. Then we can go to the mercantile and get you some supplies." Doc dampened his black hair, dried it on a small towel, and brushed a comb through it. Grabbing his coat, he gestured to Sylar. "Let's go."

The two men went out into the street, where Sylar saw several townspeople all heading in the same direction. Men, women and children, nicely dressed and very solemn. "Doc, I'll hang out here in town, check things out until you get back."

Doc squeezed Sylar's shoulder. "I won't be that long." He turned and joined a group heading for the town cemetery.

Sylar walked down the middle of the street, scanning both sides to see what was in the mostly wood-made buildings. If something caught his eye, he would go over and peek inside the windows. Seemed the entire town had shut down for the funeral. Living in New York City meant being surrounded by hundreds of people daily. And with his lifestyle, he rarely bothered to get to know anyone who didn't have something he wanted. But here, in this small town, everyone seemed to act as a whole. The fact that everything was shut down for a funeral illustrated that fact.

The warm sun had dried most of the puddles, but Sylar wondered if he'd be able to get a pair of western boots to replace his modern shoes. Would he be able to find any clothes for that matter. He wasn't a big man but tall, and that might cause problems, since many of the people he'd met were shorter then the average person in his time.

He headed toward the stable, and wondered if he should purchase a horse. He'd never ridden one. The very idea made him cringe. He could walk, run, even fly but riding a horse...

As he walked down the alleyway between the stable and the building next to it, he heard a sound behind him. The cocking of a pistol. "Are you going to shoot me in the back, Rafe? That's not very wise." Sylar didn't have to turn around to know who it was, and that he was going to do just that. He heard the sound of a gun being discharged. Turning around to face Rafe, he watched as the bullets hung in the air and dropped to the ground at his feet.

Rafe couldn't believe what he saw. The bullets from his gun not only didn't hit their mark, but seemed to hit an invisible wall, not doing the stranger any harm. He raised his hand again, sending the last two bullets from his six-shooter straight for his target. Again he watched as they fell impotently to the ground.

Sylar thrust out his arm and sent Rafe flying back twenty feet, the frightened man landing on his back in the drying mud. He watched as his opponent advanced on him. He stood over him, creating a shadow that blocked out the sun. Rafe tried to edge backwards, but the muck made it difficult for him to move, as his hands kept slipping. "What...what are you?"

"I'm not a what, I'm a who. And the name is Sylar." As fun as it was, toying with Rafe, he felt he better keep his distance for now. He turned on his heel and headed for Doc's office. He'd wait there until Doc returned.

Rafe sat in the street, still stunned. His eyes searched for his gun, which had flown from his hand when...when whatever that was that happened to him. He scrabbled up out of the mud, and picking up his gun, ran. He'd think about what to do, later. It never occurred to Rafe to leave town. Getting even was the only thing on his mind.

Sylar walked over to Doc's office, and went in. He couldn't stop grinning, thinking back on the look Rafe gave him. Now that was more like it. What Sylar didn't know was that Doc had just turned the far corner of the stables, when he saw Rafe shoot Sylar in the back. In one instant, he knew the man was dead, then saw he wasn't. The bullets had frozen mid-air, and dropped harmlessly to the ground at Sylar's feet. He had been returning from the service for Sheriff Dagget, and had heard voices. Doc stopped in his tracks. He hadn't realized that he wasn't breathing until he suddenly found himself gasping for air. He threw his hand over his mouth. No need to give himself away. His shock only intensified when he saw Sylar thrust out his arm towards Rafe, and Rafe went flying. So the stories he'd heard today might not be the alcohol-induced imaginings he had figured them to be. He really wanted to speak with Sylar now.

Doc waited until Sylar had left, and Rafe had run off down the street. He followed Sylar, noticing him going into his own office. He counted to twenty, then went inside. "Hello," he said, trying to act surprised by the man's presence.

"Hi, Doc. I hope I'm not intruding, but I wanted to find a place to relax, without going back to the hotel. I walked up and down the length of your town. It's like something out of Bonanza."

His brows furrowed, thinking how right he'd been about this man. But before he made any snap judgements, he needed to know more about him. Sylar was unusual, that he'd seen. "What?" Doc asked.

Sylar chuckled. "Nothing. How did the service go?"

"As well as such a thing can go. You know, Sylar, I'll just lay things out for you." He removed his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. He decided he may as well get to the point. "We need a sheriff. Lorne Dagget was a good man, but he wasn't a good sheriff. I've seen the way you handle Rafe. I think you could handle just about anybody who crossed paths with you."

Sylar turned his head, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. What did Doc know? "I'm not sure how long I'll be here. Would you want a man as sheriff, if he wasn't going to be around very long?"

"Sylar, you've been here long enough to know we have a problem. With you as sheriff, I have a feeling it would be Rafe who wouldn't be around very long. We can pay you $100 a month. Plus room and board. Your hotel bill would be paid for. If you should decide to stay, you can have Sheriff Dagget's old place. It'll need some fixing up, and we can get men to help with that. If you decide to stay, that is."

Sylar wanted to laugh at the salary. But compared to his time, his living expenses here weren't as high. And it wasn't like he needed the money. But did he want to be sheriff of an Old West town? He realized he had nothing else to do, and as long as he was stuck here, he could make the best of things. He'd have a job, a salary, and maybe some respect. Plus toying with Rafe was fun. When it stopped being fun, Sylar would kill him. "Alright, Doc. You've got yourself a sheriff."

Doc grabbed Sylar's hand and shook it. "That's great, Sylar! Thank you. I'll let Mayor Rogers know. Then we'll get you your badge. You don't have a gun, do you?"

Sylar held out his hands, raising his dark brows as he smiled. "I rarely have a use for one, Doc. Not since..."

"Right. Federal agent." Doc wasn't sure he believed Sylar had been an agent, but he would let that slide. It wasn't as if they were checking his credentials. What the town needed was someone who was unafraid and could handle trouble, no matter what form it took. "Ok, we'll get you a gun too. Come on, breakfast is waiting." He winked and grabbed his coat, putting it on.

Mrs Potts welcomed her customers, getting them coffee. She later returned with plates of eggs, bacon and fried potatoes. Sylar ate hungrily, again complimenting Mrs Potts on her excellent cooking. He then paid before Doc could even reach into his pocket, making the other man laugh. "Keep that up, Sylar, and you'll need the job."

They left the café and walked down the street, where Doc led Sylar to a simple wood building, large though, and fully stocked with goods. Sylar looked around while Doc called out, "Emily! Are you open for cash paying customers?"

A woman came out from the backroom, carrying several stacked boxes. "Jack, is that you? Just a moment. I'll be able to help you as soon as..." Unable to see over the top, she bumped into a counter, dropping the boxes and tripping right into Sylar, who caught her before she fell.

"Are you alright?" he asked, staring into a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

The startled woman looked up at her savior, blushed bright pink, and extricated herself from Sylar's arms. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," she replied, checking her hair and straightening her skirts. She quickly went over to the doctor. "Jack? Friend of yours?"

"Yes, Emily. This is Sylar Gray from New York City. Sylar, this is Emily Bowdry, the owner of the mercantile."

Sylar nodded to the pretty young woman. "Bowdry. Your father was the founder of this town?"

"Yes, he was, Mr Gray. He opened this store a few years before he died. It's mine now." She looked at the tall, dark-featured man with undisguised suspicion.

Doc noticed her eyeing Sylar. "Emily, Mr Gray is going to be the new town sheriff."

She looked at Sylar with surprise in her eyes. "Sheriff?" She turned back to Doc. "But didn't you say he's from New York City?"

"Emily, Mr Gray is someone who can take care of certain elements we'd like to see gone."

Emily knew whom Jack Wilson was talking about. "Rafe Matheson is bad news, Mr Gray. You know he just killed our sheriff, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss Bowdry, but Doc thinks I'd be good at the job. I'm willing to give it a chance while I'm here." He marveled at the simple, unadorned beauty before him, so unlike the women in his time.

Doc noticed the appreciative look Sylar was giving Emily, and didn't like it one bit. He went to stand by him, thus placing himself between Sylar and the woman he fancied. Turning to her, he said, "Mr Gray needs some new duds. Think you might have his size?"

As Emily looked him up and down, noting his height, she replied, " I may have a few things, and what I don't have, I can order. Come this way, Mr Gray." She led Sylar to a corner of the shop that had stacks of folded men's slacks and shirts. Doc followed closely, watching the pair. He had wanted to ask Emily to marry him, but there was always a reason to delay it. Now he wished he hadn't waited. Sylar was not only handsome. but intelligent and well-mannered too. On top of all that, he had a secret that Doc was determined to discover. Sylar Gray was not a normal man.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sylar tries to acclimate to Old West life, and accepts Doc's job offer. **

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part Four**

Doc kept a close eye on Sylar and Emily, but from a distance. He didn't know how he knew, but he had the feeling that Sylar had a past where women were concerned. He convinced himself it was more a feeling of protectiveness toward Emily, than jealousy of Sylar's good looks and charm. And Doc saw, or rather heard his charm.

"Why is a pretty woman like yourself not married?" He noticed Emily blush again, something Sylar found appealing He was only making small talk, but in fact, he liked seeing her blush. There was something so innocent about it.

She whispered conspiratorially. "Actually I do fancy a certain man, but he hasn't asked me yet." She looked over admiringly at Doc. "I know he likes me, but we've never spoken of marriage."

"Why not ask him?" Sylar asked.

"Mr Gray! A woman doesn't ask a man to marry her!" she whispered again, trying not to let her shock at his suggestion reach Doc's ears.

"Why not? From what I've seen, this town has three strong women running their own businesses. Such women wouldn't let convention get in their way." He gazed at her, sensing her immediate discomfort.

"Hey, you two! Are you jawing or buying, Sylar?" He came over and stood by Emily, noting her pink cheeks. _What had they been talking about? _

Emily, now all business, pulled some shirts off a counter. She unfolded one, and walking around Sylar, laying it against his back. She had to reach up to match the shoulders, due to his height . "Hm, the sleeves may be a bit short, Mr Gray. I can order some for you with longer sleeves."

"I'll just roll them up for now. How is the fit otherwise?" Sylar felt a little like a mannequin.

"Not bad," Doc piped up. "Could hang a mite longer, but not bad. No one will notice that if you tuck in the shirt. Emily, how about that vest there?"

She grabbed the one he pointed to, taking it and handing it to Sylar. "Tuck in the shirt, wear the vest, and roll up the sleeves. It should do for now." She took a measuring tape and instructed Sylar to stand still so that she could measure him for an order. Working expertly, she finished quickly, writing down his measurements. Then she took a pair of jeans off a shelf. "You can go try these on in the back room. Let me know how they fit."

Sylar picked up the bundle of clothes and went into the back. He first tried on the shirt, plain, white and with no folded over collar. As advised, he rolled the sleeves up halfway up his arms. Next he tried on the pants. Unlike pants in his time, these were not form-fitting, and instead of a zipper, they had buttons. As expected, they were a bit too short for him. The vest was a plain grey, in what, cotton maybe? He didn't know fabrics. Maybe later, he'd see about getting something fancier After all, he was the sheriff now. Sylar stepped out from the back room, and waited for a reaction from Doc and Miss Bowdry.

Both looked up to see Sylar in his new duds. Doc nodded approvingly, until he noticed the look in Emily's eyes. Obviously, Sylar was going to bear some watching, for more than the odd powers he seemed to have. "Emily, can you write up an order for Mr Gray?" he asked, using Sylar's formal name on purpose. "The pants look fine, but maybe a size larger. Make everything a size larger." He went over to Sylar. "Looks good. How does it all feel?"

"A little strange. Not like what I'm used to wearing." Sylar tugged at the vest, wishing it was longer.

"I suppose city clothes are different, but they can't be that much so. I think we'll have to order the boots though. Not cowboy boots, mind you. You're the sheriff now. Let's just get your foot size, and Emily can add them to the list." After Doc had gotten Sylar to measure his feet, he went to talk with Emily, out of Sylar's earshot. "Mr Gray is not from these parts, Emily. I'm doing my best to get him used to things, but for now, I'd like it if you stayed clear of him. I think the man has secrets, and I don't want you..."

"Jack, what are you saying?" she interrupted. "Mr Gray seems like a perfectly nice man."

"He is, don't get me wrong. But there's...something..." He decided not to tell her what he'd seen earlier. "Please place the order, Em. I'm taking Mr Gray to show him the sheriff's office." He smiled at her, noticing her blue eyes sparkle as she smiled back at him. "Come on, Sylar. Let's go see your new office."

Sylar looked at Emily, nodding goodbye with a grin that sent shivers down her spine. Maybe Jack was right. She watched the two men leave the store, and shaking off her feelings, she set about writing up the order for Mr Gray.

Meanwhile, Doc and Sylar headed down the main street until they came to a small stand-alone building. 'Sheriff', in big black letters, emblazoned the glass window. Doc entered, with Sylar right behind him.

"So, this is your office." Doc reached into a drawer of the desk that sat to the right of the door. He pulled out a badge and handed it to Sylar. "You may as well start wearing this. People will know soon enough, if they don't already. But that means that Rafe will too. Never turn your back on him, Sylar," he said as a friendly warning. But he also knew that Sylar had not been hurt by Rafe's bullets. Just what he had seen, he had no idea...yet. He would find out though. For now, this New Yorker was the town's best bet against Rafe Matheson's cruelty.

Sylar took the badge, and turned it over, looking at it. A silver metal six-pointed star, with the word 'sheriff' stamped across it. He looked at Doc, who smiled and nodded encouragingly. Why was he doing this? He wasn't a lawman. He was the anti-thesis of what law-abiding people stood for. He had probably killed more people than Rafe Matheson ever would. Yet here he stood, with a sheriff's badge in his hand. _What the hell, _he thought. He'd work it into something he could use. He'd be the power in this town, not that upstart wanna-be. And if he got bored, he could always leave. Couldn't he? Sylar pinned the star to his vest. "Do I look like a proper sheriff, Doc?"

"Not yet," he replied. He reached a the bigger desk drawer and pulled out a leather belt with a holster already holding a gun. "No sheriff can be without this." He handed the belt to Sylar.

"I told you, Doc. I don't need a gun."

"People will feel better if you wear it, Sylar. Put it on." Doc waited to see if he needed any help, not that he was an expert. He was a healer, not used to using weapons. However, he'd seen enough to know how to put a holster belt on. But he noticed that Sylar needed no help.

The fact was, Sylar had seen enough westerns to know how to wear a holster belt. It just felt odd to him. The belt loops were empty, but he imagined there was also ammo in the drawer. He bent to secure the leg tie, letting the belt rest comfortably on his hips. He lifted the six-shooter from the holster, weighing it's heft in one hand. "Doc, I really don't..."

Side-stepping his objections, Doc took a box from the desk drawer and handed it to Sylar. "You should go out back and practice. Every gun is different. No matter what kind of guns you used in your agent job, this will fire differently. Let's go." He stepped outside, waiting for Sylar to follow him. Why was he acting so reluctant to having a gun? Even if there was a reasonable explanation as to why Rafe's bullets didn't hit Sylar, you'd think the man would want to protect himself. Rafe may have been scared off, but he'd be back, and madder than a wet hen.

The two men walked around the building, where there was nothing but a couple of trees. Doc pointed to one. "Try hitting it." He saw confusion on Sylar's face. "Shoot the tree."

Sylar saw that Doc wasn't going to let up until he gave him a show. So he loaded the pistol, and pointing it at one of the trees, he fired. Using his TK ability, he forced the bullet to hit the tree dead on. He turned to his audience, asking, "Is that good enough for you?" He raised his brows at Doc, who was pleasantly shocked. If no one wanted to be sheriff in this town, fine. He knew he had chosen the right man. He clapped Sylar on the back. "That was perfect! You must have been a very good agent. Keep practicing. I have to go check on a patient of mine. Mrs Bridges. She's having a baby. First one, so she's understandably nervous. She and her husband live on a farm about 3 miles from town. I'll see you later, Sylar. Enjoy the office. Get used to things."

"Doc, when will the clothes arrive?"

"The mercantile will most likely get your order in a few weeks. The stage will bring it in. Emily will let you know when it arrives." He smiled, saying, "See you."

_A few weeks. Would he still be here by then?_ After Doc had gone, Sylar looked down at the gun in his hand. 'Useless' he muttered to himself. Putting the gun back into the holster, he took a bullet and held it flat in the palm of his hand. He held his hand out toward the tree. In an instant, the bullet flew from his hand and hit the tree. When he went over to check the hole, he found that the bullet had gone completely through the target. He fingered the hole on the other side of the tree and laughed. He took three more bullets, and doing the same thing, watched as all of them hit the tree. Satisfied, he went back to the sheriff's office, his office.

A man watched from a hidden spot near the stable, as Sylar disappeared inside the wood building. So the stranger had decided to take the dead sheriff's job. Well, he'd end up just like his predecessor. And that was one promise to himself that Rafe decided he would keep. This was HIS town, and he wasn't about to take any guff from some city-slicker.

**A/N: sorry this is a shorter chapter. Some will be since if I waited, it might be awhile until I got to it. Thanks for your patience though. Reviews are always good enticements.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sylar gets a proposition, while considering his future. Killer or lawman.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part Five**

Sylar was getting used to his new clothing, checking the pockets of his vest, when he thought he should have a watch. He found it ironic that he didn't have one. Running his fingers in a small pocket he assumed was for such a thing, he rose and left the office. Looking up and down the main street of town, he went in search of the watch repairman, Old Man Evans, Doc had called him. He came to a small place stuck between the stage office and the woodcrafter's store. Sylar entered, stopping when he heard the sound of a bell hanging over the door. "Hello?" he called out.

An older man came from the back room, setting a pocket watch on the counter before looking up at Sylar. "Damn thing," he mumbled. He looked up at the man everyone was talking about. "Hello there, Sheriff. What can I do for you?"

"I was looking for a pocket watch." He unconsciously fingered the small vest pocket. "Would you have anything for sale?"

"I could sell you this one, 'cept I can't get the damned thing to work." He picked it up again, and opened the back with a special tool. "I checked every piece of this thing. There's no reason it shouldn't work, but there you are."

Sylar held out his hand. "May I see it? Maybe I can do something with it."

Shrugging, Evans handed the watch to Sylar. "You have experience mending timepieces?" he asked.

"A little," Sylar responded, lifting the watch to his ear. He heard nothing. "May I?" he asked, indicating the tool in Evans hand.

"Sure thing. Look, if you can fix the thing, I'll sell it to you, half price."

Not that Sylar cared about the cost, he was more interested in the piece itself. When Evans handed him the eyeglass that enabled him to see the workings more easily, Sylar looked over the gears and other parts. It was too easy for him, but he didn't want Evans to question him about how he was able to discern so quickly what was wrong with the watch. He appeared to tinker a bit with the watch, until he finally placed parts to right, and closed the back up. Bringing it up to his ear, he smiled at the steady ticking sound. He handed the pocket watch to Mr Evans. "Good as new."

"Well, I'll be..." He handed the watch back to Sylar. "I'm a man of my word, Sheriff. You can have that for...$5.00. It's a good deal, even for a used piece."

Sylar took the watch, nodding in agreement. "Oh, I know it's a good deal, Mr Evans. Thank you." He fished for some money from his pants pocket, and handed it to the grinning old man.

"Hey, if I ever get another piece that's a mite too difficult to fix, think I can call on you, Sheriff?"

"Sure," Sylar replied, smiling at the old man. Sometimes, he actually missed repairing timepieces.

Sylar left the watchmaker's office, looking over his latest acquisition. As he headed down the street, he placed it up to his ear again, satisfied in the rhythmic ticking. He was slipping the watch into his vest pocket, when he saw Emily leaving her shop. Sylar went over, calling out to her. "Hello, Miss Bowdry."

Her face lit up when she saw who was calling her. "Good afternoon, Sheriff Grey." She looked down at the muddy water at the foot of the walkway.

Sylar reached her in two steps, spanning her waist with his hands, lifting her up and over the dirty pools of liquid. He placed her gently on a patch of dry dirt. She reminded him of Elle in her petiteness, but only in that.

Surprised, Emily brushed at her skirts. _Good thing Jack wasn't here,_ she thought. "Um, thank you, Sheriff Grey."

"Call me Sylar. Being sheriff still hasn't sunk in."

"Very well, then. And you may call me Emily. I think it would be proper. I mean, Jack likes you. I can tell. So it's as if we were all friends, I suppose."

As the two wandered down the street talking, Rafe watched warily from a distance. He struck a match on the building he was standing next to, peering at it as it flared. Then he lit his cigarette. He knew there was something not quite right about that Sylar character. His name was even strange. But what he'd seen and felt...maybe he'd see if he could get the stranger on his side, rather than risk everything by going up against him.

Sylar knew he was being watched. He turned his head to stare at Rafe, his eyes never looking away, until at last, Rafe's did. He turned back to Emily, the smile on his face not for her benefit, but she didn't know that.

"I'm here, Sylar," she said, indicating the stage office. "The post office is in there, if you ever have need for it. Thank you for the escort," she said, flashing an innocent smile that lit her face.

Sylar held her hand, helping her up onto the wooden sidewalk. "You're most welcome, Emily. Later, perhaps." He nodded, waiting for her to enter the office, and made his way to the stable. He entered, and seeing no one around, he moved further in, passing an area that held hay and feed bags. He called out. "Anyone here?" No answer came. He looked around, figuring the owner or manager, whatever he was, would return soon. There were several stalls, some which held horses. He wandered over to them, patting a couple, who snorted in reply. He had to admit, having a horse would be a necessity. Cars just didn't exist here in this town.

"Can I help you, Sheriff?" a voice called out.

Sylar spun around, and found himself staring into the face of Rafe Matheson. He started to raise his arm, until Rafe spoke quickly, holding up empty hands.

"Wait! I'm not armed. I know you got something inside you making it useless to shoot at you. Ok, I get that. But I have a proposition for you...Sheriff. I know you're not quite what folks around here think you are. One outlaw to another?" He watched Sylar for a sign that he was on the right track. "So, I was thinkin'..." he started, puffing the stub of a cigarette he had between his fingers, "you and me, joining forces. I'm a crack shot. You don't even have to worry about getting shot. And I know some boys up north who'd be here in no time, if I called for them." Rafe continued watching Sylar as he moved closer. "Nice thing too, you could still be sheriff, respected lawman of the town. People would do what you say, not knowing you rode with us, so to speak." He took another drag on the nasty smelling stub. "Whad'ya say?"

Sylar peered at the punk outlaw, grinning at his show of bravado. Obviously, he had seen something of what Sylar could do, and wanted a piece of it. Just like everyone else in his life. What Rafe didn't know was, Sylar could pretty much do whatever he wanted, and without Rafe's help. He held a hand pointing up. Small blue bolts of electricity arced between fingertips, as he slowly waved his fingers. He saw Rafe eyeing him like a kid peering into a candy shop window.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, his eyes wide in amazement as he saw more evidence of the powers this stranger had.

Sylar closed his fist, extinguishing the electricity. He enjoyed teasing Rafe, as if that penny ante crook could be of any use to him. But for now, he'd let him think that maybe he, Sylar, could be of use to him. He even said nothing, when Rafe pounded him on the shoulder.

"Yee-haww...this is gonna to be the best deal I've ever made. You, me and the boys, taking over this town, and who knows, we could move up north, taking out banks and trains all the way. Why, Jesse James' exploits would be nothin' compared to us, Sylar. People are already talking about you with respect in their voices. That can be of use to us too. Just keep them thinking you're the law." Rafe winked. "I'm going to go send a wire to my friends, tell them what we got planned. I'll be in touch." He walked out of the stable, still talking to himself about his seeming good luck.

Sylar only shook his head, as his eyes followed Rafe out into the street. He stopped smiling, thinking about what Rafe had said. So the townspeople were already feeling some respect for him. That was something rare in his life. People said they loved him but didn't really. They used him when they had the chance. They feared him when they saw him coming. Here, he'd noticed nods and smiles as he walked the street. Doc trusted him, Emily too. Both Mrs Lawson and Mrs Potts liked him, with no ulterior motive but to see him safe and well-fed. For a brief moment, warmth suffused his chest. Did he want to lose this feeling just to fulfil some jerk's dreams of being a legendary outlaw? If this respect Rafe spoke of came about after a few days, what would they feel for him after a few weeks, months or even years? If he were to be stuck in this primitive place, maybe he could actually help it along. Doc had said they wanted Bowdry's Creek to move up with the rest of the world, to become a civilized town.

As Sylar saw it, he had two choices. Throw in with Rafe, making a mockery of the badge he wore, or throw Rafe out of town. He preferred the idea of killing him, but as sheriff, he'd give the bastard a chance to leave in one piece.

What was his first inclination? He hadn't exactly been sworn in yet. Doc had said the mayor would let him know about that. But once he'd been publicly acknowledged as sheriff, it would be more difficult to turn his back on the people here. Throwing in with Rafe meant he would disappoint Doc and Emily. Something inside him didn't want to do that.

Sylar left the stable, hands in his pockets. As he walked back to the hotel, he considered his options. Some men tipped their cowboy hats at him. Women smiled shyly. One young boy called out 'Hi, Sheriff!', as he ran past Sylar. What was he going to do? If only he knew when the Japanese man was returning, if he was returning. It would be easier for him, knowing if he'd be investing time with these people. And that would make all the difference in his world.

**A/N: sorry to be so long in updating. All three of my stories need updating. Since Heroes' cancellation, my muse has gone into hiding. I have YouLookLikeFOOD to thank. Their recent review gave me the impetus to finish this chapter that I had started weeks and weeks ago. I will finish, I promise. I hate getting into stories, only to have the author discontinue writing on it. So I will not let any story hang unfinished. Hope you enjoy!**

**Just an additional note to clarify a question: This story takes place in an indeterminate time period, not exactly AU, but in that flash of time if Peter had not disabled Sylar in the car just after Sylar had killed Nathan. I thought about setting it during S3 but before he killed Nathan, then I thought I might want the flying ability to be available to use. Would be funny if I never needed it after all. My idea was that he is not so comfy riding a horse, at least at first, he's so used to getting around other ways. **

**So anyway, yes he has both Claire's and Elle's powers. It was only the flying one I really debated with myself on having. And I can still make that go away since Sylar hasn't exhibited it yet. To Sasha: things will be revealed in the next few chapters that you wouldn't have asked about Claire's power, but I Understand your question since that part hasn't come up yet. Patience! *wink***

**Thanks for reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Sylar gets a gift and a warning from a friend. **

**He also decides to buy some transportation, Old West style. **

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part six**

Sylar sat on the wooden sidewalk outside his office. He leaned his elbows on his legs, as he watched townspeople passing by in their simple daily doings. What a difference between life here and that life in New York. Or Los Angeles. Or anywhere Sylar had found himself, hunting for Specials, using Mohinder, defying Noah Bennet, or anything having to do with the Petrellis. It was peaceful here, at least as far as he had seen, barring Rafe's actions. He remembered that scum going on and on about what they could do, working together. Yet Sylar hadn't said a word. Still, Rafe heard agreement with every sentence, before he finally left the stable. Sylar thought he may as well been the villain in some cheap play, twirling his moustache while weaving dreams of world conquest. It was too comical.

Suddenly, the sun was blocked from his view by something smacked down on his head. He stood, whirling around to face... "Doc!" Sylar reached up to feel a hat on his head.

"Surprise," Doc said, all smiles. "I found that in the back of the store, and Emily said I could give it to you. Can't be town sheriff without a proper hat."

Sylar pulled the hat off, and looked it over. It was a charcoal color, not exactly like cowboy hats he was used to seeing in old westerns. It had a low, flat crown encircled by a black leather hatband, with a slightly curled brim that would shade his eyes from the sun. He looked at Doc, and set the hat back on his head, running a hand around the brim like he'd seen on TV westerns. "How does it look?" he asked.

"Suits you, my friend," he replied, patting Sylar on the back. "I'm going to the saloon. Want to have a drink with me?"

"Sure, Doc," Sylar said as he followed him across and down the street. "You were gone a long time."

"Yes, all night. The Bridges baby was a stubborn one. Took forever to come into the world, and when it started, it was breech. But everything turned out fine, and both mother and child are doing well. One thing I love about my work. Bringing new life into the world. So often, there aren't happy endings."

Sylar knew those were true words. His own life wasn't one that brought him happiness, but it brought him power. And on occasion, he even had a few moments where he would feel happiness, short-lived as it was. In the time he was here, he'd encountered no one with any abilities, yet he didn't miss that. He also had no one out to destroy him, and no one to use him. So living here was very different than living in a modern America. It changed his perspective on things he felt were necessary to him. And abilities had slipped a notch or two on his list.

Once they reached the saloon, Doc went over to the bar and ordered bourbon for Sylar and himself, taking a drink immediately. "I'm tired, I don't mind telling you. So how were things while I was gone?"

Sylar placed his new hat on the bar, and picked up his drink, swirling it around in the glass. "Fine, Doc. No trouble. I did have a talk with Rafe. Well, not exactly, since he did all the talking. Does he realize what a joke he is?"

"Joke? Sylar, that man is more dangerous than a rattlesnake. He's unpredictable, mocks the law, and lives in a self-centric world."

_Just like me_. "That's true, Doc, but I can handle him." He reluctantly drank his bourbon, not caring for the taste at all. Maybe tonight, he'd ask Mrs Lawson if she had any tea. He noticed Doc looking at him strangely. Two pairs of dark brown eyes met, but there was no challenge in them. Instead, it was as if some unspoken knowledge was being shared between the two men.

Finally, Doc broke the brief silence, saying, "I know you can, Sylar. That's why I wanted you to be sheriff."

Just as Doc asked for another drink, the young girl Rafe had terrorized came over to Sylar, looking up at him shyly. "Sheriff Grey? I just wanted to thank you for making sure Rafe Matheson didn't hurt me anymore."

She became a bit more flirtatious the longer she stood there. The new sheriff was a handsome man, after all. But Sylar wasn't interested in her, and it wasn't for her benefit he had thrown Rafe against the wall. But he accepted her thanks with a nod and turned back to his glass.

Doc laughed and whispered. "I think she would be willing to offer you some comfort, and without any charge."

Sylar only gave Doc a look that more or less said 'wasn't going to happen'. Doc shrugged and finished his drink. "Two is enough I'd say." He ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Why don't you come to the office with me. I'd like to talk with you, privately."

Sylar picked up his new hat, and the two men left the saloon and crossed over to Doc's office. "You know, Doc, I went over to the stable to talk to someone about maybe buying a horse. No one was there. Is there anyone who can help me with that? I've never...ridden one before."

That didn't surprise Doc, knowing Sylar was from New York City, but surely even there, would occasionally be a need to ride a horse. "Billy will be able to help you choose one. I think he has a few that he might be willing to let you look over." He pushed open his office door and entered, removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. Doc grabbed his medical bag, and tossed some metal tools into a pan. He lit the small stove in the corner and placed a pot of water on the burner.

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about, Doc?" Sylar asked, careful to show no emotion.

Doc, a man standing at 5'10", making him fairly tall compared to many of the townspeople, had to reach up to place a hand on Sylar's shoulder. "I'll give it to you straight. Being nice to Rafe Matheson won't get you anything but trouble. Why would you even talk with him, Sylar?"

Sylar protested. "Like I said, Doc, he did all the talking."

"What about? It couldn't be good, in any case."

"Doc, if I tell you, it could put you in danger. Let me take care of this. I'm not afraid of Rafe."

Again, Doc gave Sylar that look that said '...and I want to know why'.

The water kettle started shrieking, interrupting Doc's questioning look. He picked up the kettle and poured hot water over the tools in the pan. As he waited for the tools to heat up in the water, he went outside, and lit a cigarette. Standing on the porch, he turned back to Sylar, who was now beside him. "Rafe is the type who would take any chance that would help him, and only him, then he'd leave behind anyone he didn't need any longer. You get my drift, Sylar? He'd kill you in a heartbeat, if you...if you ever thought about..." Doc didn't want to say it.

But Sylar did for him. "Joining up with him?" There, it was out in the open. " Doc, you don't know me, so I don't blame you for wondering what kind of man you have for sheriff. I'll admit, it's not the job I would have chosen for myself. I've done things I'm not proud of, but I wouldn't have changed any of it either. It's what I am."

"And what's that exactly?" Doc asked, exhaling smoke.

_A monster_. "You don't want to know, Doc." Names flashed in his mind. Isaac. Ted. James. Tom. Elle. The last had been the hardest. And there more, many more. Too many to remember. Sylar looked up at the sky from under the brim of his hat. How blue it looked, no doubt due to the lack of smog here. He slowly turned to look at Doc, but said nothing.

Without a word, Doc went back inside, and poured the cooling water into his sink. He then took the tools and placed them in a jar filled with alcohol. He noticed that Sylar had not followed him.

What secret was he hiding? Doc knew there was one, especially after what he had said. He'd done things he wasn't proud of, but what things?

He went outside, shutting the door behind him. "Sheriff Grey, let's go get you a horse." This time, Sylar did follow. Together, they headed over to the livery stable.

Once there, Doc called out. "Hey, Billy! Are you here?"

A short, young man of about 25 came loping out from behind same hay bales. "Hello, Doc Wilson! What are you doing here?" He noticed Sylar standing beside the doctor, and nodded. "Hi, Sheriff."

"Billy, our new sheriff needs transportation. What do you have that might suit him?"

"I got one that's perty big, Doc. A gelding, pinch over 16 hands." Billy went over to one of the stalls, and brought out a tall buckskin. "Someone left him here almost a month ago, and never came back for him. With no money for board, he's for sale now."

Sylar walked around the animal, looking him over. What he was looking for, he wasn't sure.

Doc sensed Sylar had no clue how to check out a horse, so he did it for him. Growing up on a farm, even if on the outskirts of a big city, meant Doc knew a thing or two about horses. He felt the animal's legs. They were in good shape, strong and sturdy. He looked over the body, and in the mouth and ears. The eyes were clear and alert. "How much, Billy?"

"Well, Doc, seeing it's for the sheriff, I'll give him to you for $100. He's fit, not more than 5 years old, I figure. Just been shod too."

"Can the sheriff ride him first? Just to see." Doc was waiting for this.

Billy grabbed a saddle from the back room, along with other tack. "I'll even toss these in for another $50, seeing that it's for the sheriff," Billy said again, trying to score some points, it seemed. He saddled up the buckskin, and arranged the bridle, bringing the reins up and over his head.

Sylar stood there, looking at the horse he had just purchased. He'd seen lots of television shows and films where people rode, but he'd never sat atop one ever in his life. He reached out and touched the flank, which quivered in response. He placed a hand on the animal's nose. "Hello there, boy," he said, as he patted the velveteen flesh. The horse snorted, nodding his great head up and down.

Billy spoke up reassuringly. "I've ridden him a few times, and he seems perty gentle."

"Let me show you, Sylar." Doc went to the left of the horse, placed a foot in the stirrup, and grabbing the pommel and reins, lifted himself into the saddle. "See, not hard." He rode around the inside of the stable, letting Sylar get a look at man and animal, moving in unison. He stopped and hopped off. "Your turn," he said.

Sylar stepped up to the buckskin's side, and while whispering "steady, boy", lifted up a leg and planted his foot in the stirrup. He pulled himself up into the saddle. It felt odd straddling the horse, and he could see how after a few hours of riding, his butt would be quite sore.

"Now, while you move, tighten your thighs, until you get used to the motion. Use the reins to guide him. He knows what to do. Obviously, he was well trained by someone." Doc showed Sylar how to use the reins to let the horse know what he wanted. Then he left him to his own devices. "You'll need boots," Doc said, realizing Sylar was wearing inappropriate footgear, his shoes having no heels. Maybe he could find some somewhere until the ones he'd ordered from the mercantile arrived.

Sylar slightly kicked the animal's sides, like he'd seen in westerns. It worked. The horse began to walk, heading for the stable door. He moved slowly enough for Sylar to gain his confidence, letting him walk along the street. A few people stopped and watched, as the new sheriff tried out his latest acquisition. He tried not to look too much like a greenhorn, if that was the right word.

Emily saw Sylar riding by and stepped outside of the store. "It looks good, Sheriff," she called out, waving.

_This wasn't so bad_, he decided. Seeing Emily, he pulled on the reins, turning back toward the mercantile. He stopped right in front of the store and tipped his hat. "Howdy, ma'am," he said in his best twang, winking. In his normal voice, he said, "Just bought him. If I'm sheriff, I'm going to need something other than feet to get around on."

Emily laughed and blushed, as Sylar fixed her with his most charming grin.

Doc also noticed Sylar and Emily, and he still wasn't sure he wanted her around the man, especially after his semi-confession. He told Billy they'd be back to pay him, and headed for the mercantile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sylar faces a familiar demon.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part seven**

Sylar saw Doc loping toward the mercantile, so he carefully swung his leg over the horse's flank and jumped down. He tied the reins to the hitching post, as he'd seen done on westerns many times, and waited for Doc to reach them.

"That was pretty good, Sylar. For a greenhorn city slicker," he said, grinning.

Sylar knew Doc was kidding him, but since part of him thought he hadn't done too badly, it rankled. "Yeah, well, for a first time..."

"What are you going to call him, Sylar?" Emily asked.

"Hmm?" Sylar mumbled inattentively.

"Your horse," she responded, tilting her head toward the waiting animal.

"Oh. I hadn't really given it much thought. Maybe..." He patted the horse's neck, and said lightly, "maybe I'll call him...Noah." He smiled, thinking that Bennet wouldn't care much for the tribute.

"Noah. An interesting choice." Doc stepped over to Emily. "Are you free for supper tonight? Mrs Pott's said she's having pot roast on the menu. She also made chocolate cake. Sounds good."

Sylar noticed that he hadn't been invited. Obviously, Doc was jealous, the way he came running over from the stable. "I think I'll be getting back to pay Billy, Doc. Later, Emily," he said, nodding to her as he took the reins and led Noah back down the street.

Emily turned on Doc. "That was very rude, Jack! You didn't even invite Sylar to join us."

"I'm sorry, Emily," he said, moving closer to her. "I wanted some time alone with you. Anything wrong with that?"

Emily smiled and looked down shyly. Then she shook her head, looking back up at Doc. "It'll be nice, actually," she said, taking his extended arm.

Sylar peered back at the couple, grinning ruefully. He wasn't really interested in Emily, but did enjoy talking with her. Her smiles held no guile, her blushes were all innocence. But he still wanted to go back to New York and his own time.

Once he reached the stable, Sylar found Billy, and pulling out some money, paid him for Noah, the tack and a month's board. He had nothing to do, and was starting to feel restless, so he decided to go for a ride. He really needed to get out of town for awhile. Billy asked him where he was off to.

"Just around, Billy. I've seen the town. Now I want to see the countryside."

"You like to fish, Sheriff? There's trout in the creek. Just north a ways, mile or so. ."

"Thanks. I may go up that way and see it." Taking Noah's reins, he led him into the street, where he mounted and headed out of town. As he rode the dusty paths made by others, he realized how much easier it was for him adapting to being on a horse. It must be his intuitive ability. He prodded Noah to trot, while Sylar recalled Doc's recommendation to tighten his thigh muscles. He was actually beginning to enjoy riding.

Sylar rode for an hour before stopping to drink from his canteen. The water wasn't cold, and he wished he had the ability to freeze things. As he drank deeply from the canteen, he heard a noise just over the rise of a small hill. Putting his canteen away, he nudged Noah toward the sound. As he came over the hill top, he saw an elderly man bent over a small fire, obviously cooking some food. A shaggy donkey stood to the side, half-asleep. _It's like a cliche_, Sylar thought. _The crotchety old gold-miner for sure_. Sylar led Noah toward the old man. "Hello there," he called out.

The old man stood up straight, saw the badge on Sylar's chest and visibly relaxed. "Howdy, Sheriff. Set a spell. Have some coffee."

Sylar stepped off Noah and walked over to the small camp. "Thank you. Don't mind if I do." He accepted the beaten metal cup, and sniffed at the dark liquid, before sipping. It was strong, much stronger than Mrs Potts'. He wasn't much of a coffee drinker anyway. "So is there anything out here worth looking at, Mr..."

"Ramsey. Hank Ramsey. Nice to meet you, Sheriff. You from Bowdry's Creek?"

"Sylar Grey, Mr Ramsey. And yes, I am."

"Ah, heck, Sheriff Grey, just call me Hank." He took a deep drink, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Sylar set down the cup, unable to abide anymore of the coffee. "I've been in town a short time, so I thought I'd wander around and see what the area has to offer. Hank, by the look of you, you're a prospector? Is there still gold around?" Sylar remembered that the Gold Rush had started to decline in the western states sometime in the 1860s. He hadn't even asked what year it was yet, not putting any importance to the question.

"Still? There hasn't been a gold strike around here for over 30 years. But I have a hunch." He winked at Sylar.

"You're following a hunch? Seems random to me. Unless...do you know where gold is?"

Hank didn't think it would hurt being honest with the town Sheriff. He hadn't been there in a few months, traveling around the area, sampling from the bed of rocks and sand. "I got this...gift. I can tell where metal is, in the bedrock, streams, doesn't matter. I got the gift, I tell ya. Problem is getting to it. Too deep, and I can't mine it without 'spensive equipment."

Sylar wondered if it was, indeed, a gift the old prospector spoke of. An ability...to find natural metals. Suddenly, he looked at the old man, his mind hungering for what it didn't have. He was no longer thinking, he only wanted. Hank kept talking, unaware that Sylar was moving closer to him, one hand raised, finger extended. He tried to stop himself.

_I don't need this. **I want it**. I can make my own gold. **I want it.**_

He was the town sheriff. People trusted him. Looked to him for protection. But the hunger was too strong. Sylar grabbed the old man by the shoulders, turning him around to face him. A screeching pierced the country air, as blood dribbled, then flowed freely down the man's face. He screamed, experiencing a pain he'd never felt before. When he'd collapsed to the ground, Sylar squatted beside him, removed the skull cap and let his fingers move over the pulsing brain matter. Finally, he found what he wanted. It **was** an ability, and Sylar took it.

As Hank Ramsey bled out, he wouldn't forget, even in death, the look of murderous desire in the sheriff's eyes. What had he done to deserve this? Before darkness took over, he knew the answer, and one tear slipped from his eye. Why, just when things were going so well for him.

Sylar stood, looking down at the body. His hands were wet, and red with the sticky blood of the old man. Already, it was drying in the heat of the sun.

Sylar walked around, seeking water. There wasn't enough in his canteen to even begin to clean the gore from his hands. He finally spotted a large container near the dozing donkey. He dipped his hands into the warm water, rubbing them until most of the blood was gone, then shook them until they were dry.

Going over to Noah, he mounted the patient animal and headed back to town. He rode straight to the stable, handing Noah over to Billy.

"You enjoy your ride, Sheriff?"

Sylar fixed him with a look that sent chills down Billy's spine. "Yes, I did," he said, turning away.

Billy stood transfixed, until a snort from Noah brought him to his senses. But he would always remember that look in the sheriff's eyes, and it scared him.

Later in the day, Sylar was sitting in his office, when shouts filled the street. He exited the building to find a crowd of people milling about. In the center of the excitement stood a cowboy, gesturing to several people, and pointing to a horse. Lying over the back of the animal was a body of a man. Sylar instantly recognized the old prospector. Finding dead people in the country wouldn't have piqued too much interest, but finding a body with the skull cap removed was something else.

"Sheriff, Mike found Hank, not far from the creek, deader n doornail," one of the saloon regulars piped up.

Sylar went to look at the body, in a pretense of interest. "Has someone called Doc?"

"I'm here, Sheriff," Doc called out, pushing his way through the crowd. "Take him into my office, boys. Be careful you don't jostle him too much. I want to see what happened that could cause such a wound." He turned to Sylar, asking, "Want to help me? It's murder for sure, but I need to know how before we can find out by whom." He followed the men carrying the body into the office.

"Alright, folks. Please go back to what you were doing. Doc will find out what happened here." Sylar wanted few witnesses, and quickly dispersed the crowd. He entered Doc's office, waiting for the men to leave the two of them alone.

Doc had already rolled up his sleeves, and had various tools at his side. He lifted the piece of skull cap off the old man's chest where one of the men had placed it. Doc examined it, running a hand along the edge. It was a perfectly smooth cut, the scalp intact.

Just then, Emily rushed in. She saw the body and Doc standing there with the skull cap in his hands, and gasped. "Jack, what happened...?"

"Emily, please go. I don't want you to see this. Sheriff?"

Sylar took Emily by the arm and led her outside. "Go home. You shouldn't see any of this, Emily. I'm sure Doc will let you know more later." He looked into her eyes, and touched her cheek. "Please."

Emily couldn't look away from Sylar's dark brown eyes. "Alright, I will." She turned to step off the sidewalk, but gave him one last look before leaving.

Sylar went back inside. He stood by Doc's side, watching him examine the open skull, gently touching the drying brain. "No animal did this. But even when I do autopsies, I have to use a saw. Mike didn't find anything in the camp except Hank's equipment and supplies. Some men are going there to bring it all back now." He bent low, peering all around the head. "If someone used a saw, they would have had to have taken it with them. Unless someone wanted Hank's money, I don't know why anyone would have killed the old man. But why not just shoot him? This is so extreme, Sylar. Don't you think?" He turned his head to look up at Sylar, then straightened up. "Who could have done this, and why?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the new sheriff.

Sylar looked back at Doc, searching for any indication in his face that he might suspect Sylar of the murder.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sylar realizes that by killing, he has placed himself in danger of discovery. But he has another problem that may expose him sooner than he thinks.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part eight**

Rafe had heard all the noise, but was reluctant to get to involved with the crowd. He'd heard a dead man had been found, and he didn't want the blame. He'd killed in the past, no denying that, but this time, he was innocent. Sheriff Dagget was the last man Rafe had murdered. Still, he wanted to know more about what happened.

Crossing the street towards Doc's office, he went around the side and peered into a window. Lying there on a table was a man dressed in grubby clothing. The thing that grabbed Rafe's attention was the gaping hole in the man's head. Had Doc done that for his examination? Rafe moved away from the window, and leaned against the building. Ok, so maybe they wouldn't try to pin this death on him. He continued listening at the window.

"Do you notice that there are no bite marks. Again, I don't think an animal did this. And Hank knew how to defend himself. He was pretty good with a knife." Doc had checked the body thoroughly but except for some scratches, obviously from prospecting in the brush, digging in rock and so on, he found nothing. "But notice, Sylar, how he didn't even fight back? He must have known his killer, like he just wasn't expecting an attack."

Sylar listened attentively as Doc expressed his suppositions aloud. "So who was he, Doc?"

"Hank Ramsey was a gold hunter, literally. He said he had a way to find gold, guaranteed. Thing was, he never got rich. Oh, he'd find enough to live on, but huge strikes?" Doc shook his head.

"So he was from Bowdry's Creek." Sylar wanted information only to feel out what Doc knew or suspected.

"Yep. Oh, not born here, but his family moved here when he was a boy. He did odd jobs here and there. Even worked for the railroad for a time. When he came back, he suddenly took up prospecting. And that's all he did since. He kept telling people he knew where gold was, but had no way to get at it. Since he wasn't getting rich, people didn't believe him." Doc drew a sheet up over the body, and went to the sink to wash his hands. "I don't like mysteries, Sylar. He was harmless. Who would want to kill him? Why?"

Sylar looked down, but only for a moment. He didn't want to silently shout to Doc, 'It was my fault!'. "Whoever did it might be miles from here by now."

As Doc was drying his hands, he saw someone outside the window. "What the hell...?" Heading for the front door, he said, "Sylar, come on."

Sylar followed, just rounding the corner in time to see Doc grabbing Rafe Matheson by his shirt, demanding to know why he was spying on them. "You got something to hide, Rafe?"

"No, Doc, I was just curious. Enough gets pinned on me, I just wanted to be sure that idea hadn't come to you." He saw Sylar standing slightly behind Doc, and pulled away from the angry physician. "You know me well enough to know I wouldn't have any problem with people thinking I killed someone. But I won't be blamed for somethin' I didn't do." He glared at Sylar, his hand resting on his pistol.

Doc didn't want a gun battle breaking out between the town sheriff and the town bully, so he stepped back from Rafe. "Alright, you didn't do it. It's not exactly your style anyway, Rafe. Just...go. I don't want you skulking around here again." He turned his back on the outlaw and went back inside.

Sylar merely stared at Rafe, almost challenging him with his eyes. He knew Rafe was innocent, but it would be an easy way for him to get rid of the blowhard.

"What's the matter, Sheriff? Forget about our deal?"

"There's no deal, Rafe. I never made any promises to you." His visage took on a dark quality, one that told Rafe to back off.

Rafe didn't read body language very well. "That's not how I understood it, Sheriff. I already sent for my partners. They'll be mighty unhappy to hear you backed out of our deal."

Sylar stepped up to the gunman, standing over him, being the taller of the two. "Is that a threat?" he asked casually.

To Rafe's credit, he didn't back down. "Take it for what it is. And what it becomes, Sheriff. That's all I'm gonna say to you." He turned and walked toward the saloon, feeling Sylar's eyes boring into his back. But he was determined not to let himself be shaken. That man had some sort of powers, and Rafe wanted to make use of them.

Sylar went back into Doc's office. He said nothing as he watched Doc cleaning his equipment.

"What was that all about?" Doc asked, his back to Sylar. He continued his work, waiting for an answer. When he didn't get one, he closed the alcohol jar, and turned to see Sylar just standing there, his face impassive. "I heard you and Rafe talking." He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. "Sylar, I'll just come out and ask. Are you and Rafe planning on partnering with each other?"

"No, Doc. Rafe had the idea that I had agreed to work with him. He was wrong. I never agreed to any such thing. If you'd heard the entire conversation, you'd know that I told him I wasn't interested. I think he took it badly."

Doc looked down at the floor, thinking about what he'd been told. He was glad Sylar hadn't thrown in with Rafe. He still didn't know what to make of the new sheriff. Should he trust him, or not? "Look, I'm going to go see Emily, explain what happened and ask her forgiveness for running out on dinner so abruptly. Would you go to the wood maker and see if he has another coffin? I think I'll let Hank to his rest, but keep the skull cap. I intend to know exactly how it was cut. The one thing I can tell, with the limited information I have from the autopsy, is he wasn't dead when it happened." Doc rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired. Thanks, Sylar. See you tomorrow." He left Sylar in the room, and headed down to the mercantile.

Sylar watched him go. He turned back to look at the sheet-covered body, noticing blood had seeped into the fabric, staining it red. He went over to stand by the table, and reached out, touching the stain. It was dry. He left Doc's office, and walked across the street to the wood maker's shed. He gave Doc's message to the wood maker, and feeling tired himself, returned to the hotel. Maybe he'd bathe and get some sleep. He had a feeling tomorrow wasn't going to be a pleasant day.

Once he reached the hotel, he bid Mrs Lawson a good evening and headed up to his room. Grabbing a towel and his soap and razor, he used the bathroom, shaving and bathing the day's dirt away. He found himself scrubbing a bit too hard, and wondered what else he was trying to remove. _The stench of death_, he'd once heard someone say. _You can't get away from it._ _And no matter how hard you scrub, you can't wash it away. _He quit trying.

Sylar was lying on his bed, arms beneath his head, when he heard a knock on his door. He quickly threw on some pants and opened the door to see Mrs Lawson standing there, tray in hand.

Seeing Sylar shirtless, she said, "Oh, Sheriff Grey. I'm sorry if I disturbed you." She wasn't a shy woman, having been married for 24 years, and widowed these past 8, but she was a woman who respected propriety. She handed the tray to Sylar, saying, "I thought, what with all that was going on this afternoon, you may not have had time to eat. I made you up a tray. There's a cup of coffee there too, in case you wanted to relax some before bed. Well, anyway, I hope it's alright."

Sylar removed the napkin from the tray. Sitting on the tray was a plate heaped with several pieces of fried chicken, boiled potatoes and two still-warm biscuits. Next to that on it's own plate sat a large slice of apple pie. "It looks wonderful, Mrs Lawson. Thank you." He placed the tray on the dresser. "By the way, Mrs Lawson, do you have any tea? I'm more a tea drinker than a coffee drinker."

"Of course, Sheriff. I'll be sure to have some brewed up in the morning for you. Good night then."

As soon as she left, Sylar brought the tray to the bed, and sitting down, began to devour the chicken. He ate the biscuits and potatoes quickly, and picking up the smaller plate, savored the fresh-baked pie. He followed that with the coffee. Once done, he lay back on the bed, his belly satisfied. Soon, he was fast asleep.

When Sylar awoke, it was already morning. He must have been exhausted. Rising, he went to the window and looked through the lace curtains. Amazingly, people were already out and about. He heard laughter, and noticed Rafe over by the saloon, talking with two other men. His cohorts had arrived, no doubt.

Dressing quickly, he washed up with water that had been left in his pitcher, then brushed his teeth with some tooth powder Mrs Lawson had given him. Afterwards, he proceeded downstairs. Mrs Lawson had breakfast on the table at which several people were sitting. Sylar had not met the other customers yet, not having had the chance to eat breakfast at the table since he'd arrived. He sat while Mrs Lawson introduced everyone, all of them impressed to be having breakfast with the sheriff. Some were passing through town, others staying for awhile.

Sylar listened avidly as he ate, while the ones who'd come by stage described their trips. It was like a history lesson come to life for him. The time it took to get from large cities like St Louis to say, San Francisco, was unbelievable, but then Sylar was used to flying, with and without a plane. Hours versus days made all the difference to someone from the future living in the past.

Once he'd finished his meal, he thanked Mrs Lawson, and saying goodbye to his fellow guests, headed out to see Doc. He wanted to know if he'd made any discoveries about the death of Hank Ramsey.

Sylar walked down the wooden sidewalk, giving Rafe a sideways glance across the street when he came up even with stopped and all but dared the outlaw to speak to him. He wondered why he didn't, since he had his friends with him. Not that Sylar cared. When nothing was said, Sylar continued on to Doc's_. _He knocked on the door, and opened it, calling out to him.

"Hello, Sylar. Come on in."

Sylar saw the body of Hank lying in a wooden coffin. "Hey, thanks for taking care of this for me," Doc said, his hand lying on the side of the plain box.

Sylar saw that Hank was dressed in a nice suit, most likely borrowed from someone. A hat covered the hole from the missing skull cap. Sylar looked down at the old man. He didn't notice Doc talking to him.

"Sylar? Did you hear me? We'll be burying him this morning. Hank had no family, but there may still be people who will want to pay their respects." He went over to the silent man, touching him on his shoulder. "Sylar?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Sylar nodded. "Yes, I heard you, Doc." He decided he'd better behave more normally if he didn't want Doc to question his behavior. "How's Emily, Doc? We kind of shuffled her off yesterday."

"Don't worry, I spoke with her. It caught her by surprise, but thank you for getting her out of here so quickly. Why don't you go see her at the store. I think she has something for you."

Surprised at the suggestion, Sylar said, "I'll do that." He even offered to help with the coffin, and this time, stayed at the grave side until the services were done.

The burial was finished, with more than a few townspeople making an was a crusty old man who'd never harmed anyone. His remaining property was left to the school, the donkey used for the children's amusement. Billy had said he would board the animal for nothing.

Once the doings were completed, Doc could spend time trying to determine how Hank had been killed. He just felt that even if he did discover the method used to sever has skull cap, he might never know who did the deed. Doc ran a finger over the smooth cut. This was no saw cut, that he knew. So what could have made such a smooth slice, almost as if it had been done in one motion.

"Doc?"

Doc jumped, and dropped the piece of bone on the table. "Oh, Sylar, it's you. Sorry. I guess this whole thing has made me a bit jumpy."

"You and a lot of other people." He looked out the window. "I see Rafe has some friends in town."

"Yeah, some real hard cases. I wouldn't turn my back on them, if I were you, Sylar." After having seen the bullets Rafe had sent straight at Sylar fall at his feet, Doc wondered just how well he could protect himself. He so wanted to ask his friend, but dared not let him know he'd even seen the incident.

"I think I'll go see Emily now, Doc, if that's alright with you." He left, once Doc had nodded his consent. He really didn't want the man jealous of his talking to the woman. He wondered why Doc didn't just marry her.

Sylar entered the store, seeing a few customers browsing around. He went up to the counter, waiting for Emily to finish with one of her clients. He was instantly greeted with a smile.

"Hello, Sheriff." She mouthed that she would be done in a minute, so he waited, looking at some glass containers holding old-fashioned candies. She saw him and nodded. He opened a container holding cherry drops, and took one, popping it into his mouth.

As soon as she was able, Emily went in back and brought out some clothing. She handed the bundle to Sylar. "These aren't from your order, but when they came in, I thought you might want to see if you liked anything."

Sylar pulled a black and white patterned shirt, a pair of black pants and a black vest from the pile. "I might buy these," he said, checking them over for size.

Emily chuckled. "Do you always wear black?" She picked up a blue shirt. "What about this one? It would look good with your coloring."

"I'm not picking clothes to look good, Emily. I just happen to like...black."

"Suit yourself. Gunslingers are known to wear only black."

Sylar leaned forward over the counter, and whispered. "Have you ever known me to sling any guns?"

Emily frowned in confusion, then realized he was pulling her leg, and laughed aloud. Her laughter didn't go unnoticed by some of the shoppers in the store. "Anyway, if you see anything here you like, let me know and I'll add them to your bill. You can pay for everything when your order comes in," she added quickly, seeing him reach into his pocket. She handed him what looked like ribbons. When she saw the look on his face, she explained, "They're ties." She took one, and reaching up, placed the tie around Sylar's neck, tying it expertly. "There. All set."

"Thank you, Emily." Sylar noticed more than one person watching the two of them. "I'd better get to the office. Thank you for everything." He picked up the clothing he'd chosen from the pile Emily had brought out. "See you later."

He left the store, several pairs of eyes following the sheriff as he walked out. They then shifted to Emily, who went back to work, avoiding the stares. She only hoped town gossip didn't reach Doc's ears.

Sylar headed to his office, stopping off first at the hotel to drop off his new clothes. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Sitting at his desk, he opening the drawer. The gun sat in its holster. Sylar hadn't used it since that day Doc had given it to him. He pulled the holster from the drawer, and taking the gun out, perused the piece. He was thinking how primitive they were, but only because he could kill so easily with his powers. He'd killed the old man without a gun, and that was why Doc didn't believe Rafe had done it.

Speaking of Rafe, Sylar looked out his window. The saloon was already open. Putting the gun away, he left his office and strode across the street. Although the piano was being played, there were really very few people at this time of day. A couple of men sat at a table playing what Sylar imagined was poker. Three of the pleasure girls sat around, eyeing the men hopefully. They all fixed their gaze on the new sheriff, smiling broadly in a come-hither way. He merely nodded, and sat at a table.

Sylar looked at the bartender, and asked for a cup of coffee. Sipping the hot liquid, he heard raucous laughter coming from upstairs. One of the voices was Rafe's. He didn't recognize the others, but he knew they must belong to his friends.

One of the girls, a pretty redhead, came and sat at the table, looking expectantly at Sylar. "Hello, Sheriff. Beautiful day, isn't it? My name is Cherise." She slid her hand over the table top, placing it on top of his. "Would you like some entertainment, Sheriff? I wouldn't even charge you my usual rate."

He reached over, taking her hand and squeezing it, even as he removed it. "Thank you for the offer, but not right now." Seeing the crestfallen look on her face, he said, " Maybe later."

That perked the girl up. When Sylar asked her if Rafe was upstairs, she volunteered the information that he was with some friends, as Sylar suspected. "I think they're planning something. You'd better watch your back, Sheriff. I heard your name being bandied around." She stood, moved around behind him, and ran her hands across his shoulders. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear, "I'll be here if you ever want to have some fun. You're without a doubt, the best looking man I've ever seen in this town. Who knows, I may even do it for free." She kissed his cheek, and went to sit with the men playing poker.

Sylar finished his coffee, and left the saloon. He waited on the sidewalk, watching passers by. He thought maybe he should go see Noah at the stable. Just as he had stepped into the street, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Hey, Sheriff." It was Rafe. "Have you changed of mind yet? My buddies wanna know. They're real upset you decided not to work with us."

Sylar turned around, and fixed the small group with a glare that would have sent fear into any ordinary person. But these were men who weren't afraid of dying, and they didn't back down. That made them dangerous. Just not to him. "No, I haven't changed my mind."

Anger shone in Rafe's eyes. He stood close to Sylar, his voice a whisper. "I'd think about that if I was you. I'm going to give you til this evening. When you're ready, come to the saloon tonight at 6:00. We'll be waiting. If you don't come..."

Sylar recognized the implied threat. "What, you'll kill me? You of all people know that's an empty threat. You can't hurt me, Rafe."

Rafe thought a moment. "Maybe. Maybe not. Don't show up, and you'll find out. We all will." He turned on his heel, the other two hard cases following, one looking back at Sylar. He whispered to Rafe, who yelled at him to shut up.

Sylar just stood, watching them move down the street. This was really becoming tiresome. Maybe he'd just kill them all, ripping their bodies apart so that they'd be indistinguishable from one another. Maybe he'd pick them off one by one, flying each high into the sky, and letting them fall to the ground below. Maybe he'd electrocute them, then fuse their bodies into one mass of burned flesh.

As he was fantasizing about killing Rafe and his gang, a voice startled him from his reverie.

"I warned you, Rafe wasn't anyone to play games with. You cannot turn your back on them for a second, hear me?"

"Yeah, Doc, I hear you," Sylar responded his eyes dark, an unpleasant smile on his face. "I hear you only too well."

**A/N: I was up late, finishing this chapter. I wanted to post it, so will check for errors later. If you find any mispellings and such, just message me so I can fix them. And thanks! Hope you enjoy.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sylar spends some time getting to know another friend. But will that person become Sylar's plaything, or someone else's?**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part nine**

The next day, Ben Rogers, the mayor of Bowdry's Creek, called Sylar, Doc, and a few other personages of importance into his office. There he swore Sylar in as town sheriff. Sylar hoped that it wouldn't be as permanent as everyone thought it would be. But he accepted the congratulations of the mayor, and then Doc.

"Glad you decided to accept the job," Doc offered while shaking Sylar's hand.

"You kind of talked me into it, Doc," Sylar pointed out, one eyebrow raised.

Doc laughed. "Yes, I did, didn't I." Together, the two men stepped outside.

Doc excused himself, telling Sylar that he was going to go visit some patients. Since many of the outlying farms were so far apart, Doc would make several stops during each trip. It usually took an entire day.

Sylar decided to take Noah out for some exercise. He found that, once he'd learned how to ride, he really enjoyed it. Billy quickly saddled the buckskin, and left the sheriff to take him outside the stable.

While Sylar rode down the main street, he thought it might be best that he not be in town while Rafe was waiting in the saloon. He knew the outlaw would be expecting him, so he just wouldn't show. He smiled, thinking about how angry Rafe would get, but he couldn't care any less than he did, which wasn't much. As he neared the mercantile, he decided to stop and see Emily. He left Noah tied to the hitching post out front and went inside.

Emily looked up from the paperwork before her. "Sylar! What brings you back?" She moved around to the open floor.

"I'm just taking Noah out for some exercise. Are you busy?" he asked, looking over what appeared to be order forms lying on the counter top.

"I'm just finishing up some work, then I think I'll close up a bit early." She looked up into the dark eyes that seemed to hold a question. The effect the sheriff had on her was not what it had been when he first appeared in her store. Back then, his smile had made her shiver. Now, it delighted her. She smiled, asking, " Sylar, did you want to say something?"

He perused the face of the woman before him. He noticed her soft pink blush, blue eyes that sparkled in the natural sunlight pouring through the front windows of the store, and soft brown hair piled up on her head with several tendrils loosened around her neck. "If you're free, come riding with me. I have Noah out front. You do ride," he asked, wondering if such a gentle woman did, even if she was living in the Old West.

Emily thought a moment. Should she go with Sylar, alone? Would there be talk, and would Doc care? He obviously trusted Sylar. She suddenly made a decision. "Alright, I'll finish this up quickly, change into a riding skirt, and we'll go. I can show you some of the prettier parts of this country." She wrote some notes, and counted up the total for her orders, then put the papers in a drawer behind the counter. She grabbed a skirt from a shelf and started for the back room. She turned to Sylar, saying, "It's my store," she said with a wink. Within moments, she returned, and headed for the front door. Sylar preceded her out, after which she turned the 'open' sign around, and exited, locking the door behind her.

Sylar took Noah by the reins, and swung onto his sturdy back. He backed him near the sidewalk, and reaching down, pulled Emily up behind him. Then he turned around, and they rode for the outskirts of town.

Emily had wrapped her arms around Sylar's waist, hanging on as Noah trotted along. Sylar enjoyed the feel of her arms, and realized that she trusted him. Trusted him in a way no one back home had. It was a powerful thing, having someone's trust. But if she knew his entire past, what would she think of him then? He hoped she never found out.

They rode for about half an hour. Opposed to the countryside Sylar had seen when he came upon Hank Ramsey, with it's rocky surface and few trees, the other side of town was ringed by fields of wild grass and trees. Spots of flowers grew here and there. They came to a large creek, where Sylar hopped off, swinging his leg over Noah's neck. He reached up, and holding Emily by the waist, gently brought her down. While Noah drank from the creek, Sylar and Emily walked toward a fallen tree.

"What's New York City like, Sylar?" Emily asked, sitting down on the log.

He sat beside her, thinking on how best to tell her without saying too much. "It's big. Lots of people and traffic. Buildings that reach up to the sun. There's theatre, and restaurants that serve food you've probably never heard of. There's so much to do there." Sylar became aware, even as he spoke, that he'd never done anything like go to the theatre or eat out. He ate when it was necessary, and traveled when he was looking for someone. He had little time for pleasantries.

Emily smiled, thinking how different it must be from Bowdry's Creek. "Maybe one day, I can go there," she mused aloud, sighing.

"Why not. You don't have to stay here for the rest of your life." He reached out to her, and brushed aside a strand of hair. He suddenly felt awkward, and stood, taking a few steps away from the log.

"Sylar, do you have any...family...back home?" Emily asked shyly.

Sylar knew what she was really asking him. "No, I don't. Since my mother...died, there hasn't been anyone, not really. Anyway, I don't need anyone. I have some goals I'm working to accomplish, with one that may even get me everything I could possibly want." Of course, he couldn't tell her that it was his plan to take over the life of the President of the United States.

"Everything you want? That's a tall order for most people." Emily said, feeling slightly baffled by his admission, until another thought occurred to her. "But...does that mean you won't be staying in Bowdry's Creek?"

Sylar sat back down next to Emily, and bending to pick a single small flower from the surrounding grass, he handed it to Emily. "I'm not sure. I told Doc when he asked me to be sheriff, I probably wouldn't be staying long. I think he was hoping I would take care of Rafe. After that, maybe he doesn't care if I stay or not."

"Sylar, that's not true," Emily protested. "Jack likes you. I think he considers you a friend."

A warmth suffused Sylar on hearing that. He had to admit, he liked Doc too. And there were only a few people he could say that about. So very few. "That's good to hear," he replied.

"And I like you, Sylar. I admit, when I first met you, I wasn't sure about you. But now that I know you somewhat, I've changed my mind. You'll be good for this town, I just know it." She looked down at the small purple flower in her fingers. Bringing it up to her nose, she noticed a slight fragrance. She turned to look at him, sitting so closely to her on the log. "I hope you stay," she said with all sincerity.

Affected by her words, Sylar looked down at the petite woman next to him. He brought one hand up to cup the nape of her neck, as he leaned towards her, his eyes searching hers for permission. When he saw no protestation, he leaned closer, and pressed his lips to hers gently. He wouldn't treat her like the women back home. Even Maya, in her naivete, was nothing like Emily. He had the feeling that there was fire beneath that shy exterior, and it might have been fun for him to bring that out. But it was her innocence that compelled him to kiss her.

Still gently, he forced her lips to part, taking in her breath just before she pulled away. He felt her hand on his chest, firmly pressing him away.

"Sylar,...I...I can't." Feeling breathless, she stood and walked away from him. When he went to stand by her side, she turned to him, saying quite emphatically, "I love Jack. I know things aren't as they should be between us. But I'm willing to wait."

"Emily, I can't offer you what he can. It's not in my nature." He turned her to face him. Placing his hand on her cheek, his thumb forcing her chin up, he offered the one thing he could give her. "You don't have to wait to be loved."

Knowing what he meant, she smiled at him. "Yes, I do. I know what I want too, Sylar, and it's Jack. Maybe they do things differently in the big cities, but out here, we do things the old-fashioned way. Can you understand?"

He thought a moment of how things had been for him since being stranded here in the past. He'd made friends. He'd been given a position of responsibility and respect. The townspeople liked him for who they thought he was. These simple people were nothing like the people he'd left in the future. Well, almost. Rafe was exactly like the ones he'd known then. All the more reason to eradicate him and his kind. Sylar snorted a small laugh. "Yes, Emily, I do understand. For your sake, and Doc's, I hope he understands." He held out his hand, palm up.

Emily laughed and placed her small hand in his. Together, they returned creek-side to find Noah munching away at the plentiful grass. Grabbing the reins, Sylar brought him around. Climbing aboard, and then reaching down, he easily lifted Emily on behind him. They rode back to town at a slow pace, taking in the scenery and talking. From their conversation, Sylar learned that Emily, although curious about the world beyond Bowdry's Creek, had no plans to ever leave it. So to pass the time, he told her stories about other places, omitting, of course, the fact that it was the future he was speaking about. He also omitted the details that involved the murders he'd committed in his travels. He didn't think she would understand that.

As Sylar and Emily rode down the main street towards the stable, a pair of eyes glared at the sheriff. Angry didn't begin to describe the emotion they showed.

"Hey, Rafe, are you going to go after the sheriff? You know, something tells me he ain't afraid a' you."

"Shut up, Jess! I jus' gotta think about what might force that sheriff to his knees. There has to be somethin'." Rafe only became madder, thinking about how Sylar not only didn't make the appointment, but he'd gone and taken the doc's girl for a ride. _The doc's girl,_ Rafe thought. Was Sylar moving in on Jack Wilson's girlfriend? If so, she might be a weakness that Rafe could make use of. He smiled an ugly smile, but one that, when seen by his friends, let them know Rafe wasn't done yet. Not by a long mile.

When they reached the stable, Sylar and Emily dismounted, and let Billy take care of Noah. Sylar then walked Emily back to the mercantile. Her home was in the back of the store, compact but cozy rooms. He led her to the front door, and waited for her to unlock it. Before going in, she turned around. "Thank you for the ride, Sylar. I hope you can forgive me for anything I may have said that..."

Sylar reached down and took one hand. He brought it up to his lips, and kissed the tops of her knuckles. "Don't worry about it. It was a pleasure just being with you. Good day, Miss Bowdry."

He winked and turned on his heel.

She watched him as he left. She shrugged, wondering if she would ever understand that man. He was a strange one. But if anyone could tempt her from Jack, it might have been Sylar.

Sylar headed to his office, hands in his pockets, when Rafe stepped out from behind a corner, blocking his path. "You didn't show, Sheriff. I said 6 o'clock. It's past 6 now. Or were you planning on being late?"

Sylar stood there, hands still in his pockets. "I wasn't planning on being there at all, Rafe."

Ignorant of the fact that Sylar was nothing like Sheriff Dagget, Rafe exploded. "Damn you, idiot! When I say to do something, I expect you to do it. Or maybe you'd like to see Miss Bowdry full of holes. 'Course, me and the boys would have a little fun with her first."

Sylar heard snorting laughter coming from around the corner. So Rafe's buddies were offering hidden support to their friend. Sylar removed his hands from his pants pocket, and stepped nearer to Rafe. His eyes burned with black fire. He didn't blink as he told Rafe, "Don't threaten Miss Bowdry, ever. If you even look her way, I'll take you apart, piece by piece, until there's nothing left to use as fish bait. You'll scream for me to kill you quickly, but that will only make me happy. Hearing...you...scream."

Rafe shouldn't have been afraid, seeing Sylar had no gun. Yet he stepped back a bit. Maybe bringing the girl into it wasn't the smartest idea. "Ok, Sylar, you want to stop me. Meet me in the street tomorrow at noon."

Sylar laughed, shaking his head. "You've got to be kidding. A showdown. Seriously."

Rafe was caught off guard by Sylar's apparent disregard for the challenge he had just issued. He'd had enough. Rafe then issued a threat as clear as he could make it. "It's either that, or Doc loses someone very close to him. And I ain't kidding about that. You decide. You meet me tomorrow...in the street...at noon, or the girl dies."

Sylar rolled his eyes, trying to maintain a serious demeanor, but he was finding it difficult. "Alright, Rafe, tomorrow, high noon," he repeated straight-faced, before he laughed again. He turned his back on the fuming outlaw, and went on to his office. As Sylar sat in his chair, musing over what had just happened, all he could think was, _This is insane!_ _I want out of here! _

**A/N: I can see ahead to the end of this story. I am, in fact, writing the final chapter. Not that the next chapter is the final chapter, but I will have that last chapter down, ready to post when I'm at the end of, well, wherever the end lies. Thank you for your reviews, those who nicely left remarks. They really do compel me to continue writing. Sometimes life gets in the way, and you can't think of what to put down on paper, so to speak. All it takes is someone saying "loved it, do more." to get me going again. Thank you, everyone!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Is Rafe brave to face down Sylar, or just too stupid to know better? **

**Title moment is here!**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part ten**

Sylar was standing on the porch in front of the Sheriff's office, contemplating how to handle Rafe and his bunch. He could easily kill them, no question. But doing it publicly would expose him to the town. He could always lure them away and kill them in private. Sylar stood and paced. He was becoming frustrated with himself. Why was making this decision proving to be so difficult? It shouldn't be! He was Sylar. Hadn't he always acted on his impulses without regard to what people might think?

He watched as people went about their business, but as they passed him, the look in their eyes told him that they knew what was going to happen tomorrow. He saw curiosity, encouragement, pity, and confusion.

"Sylar!" When Sylar didn't reply, Doc grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around and popping him one on the jaw.

Sylar staggered back, but didn't fall. Shock was etched on his face. He rubbed his jaw more in surprise than because of any pain he felt, for that had passed quickly. "What was that for?"

Doc rubbed his knuckles, his face dark with anger. "Today, I heard that you took Emily out for a ride. And that in the store, you two were acting mighty cozy."

"Is that all? I guess what they say about small towns is true. Look, Doc, I did take Emily out for a ride. She knows this country, and I wanted to get to know her while she showed me around. Nothing happened." Sylar took a step towards Doc. "She loves you, you know. Why don't you just marry her?" He didn't know how much Doc knew, but he would assume it wasn't anything about his kissing Emily or offering to bed her.

Doc looked down at the ground, feeling ashamed of his outburst. "I'm sorry, Sylar. I just heard some gossip, and got jealous. I know you wouldn't do anything to Emily to hurt her. Tongues wag in small towns, it's true. I'll have to be careful what I listen to anymore. Still friends?" Doc extended a hand in Sylar's direction.

Sylar accepted the hand. "Friends, Doc." And he meant it. When he'd kissed Emily, it didn't reflect on any feelings he had for Doc. He had been attracted to Emily's innocence and in that moment, wanted to feel a part of it.

"I also hear that Rafe has challenged you to a showdown. I'll wager it's all very primitive to you, coming from a big city. What are you going to do?"

"I suppose that depends on how far Rafe carries it. And I don't want you to get involved, Doc. I can handle Rafe." Sylar looked up and down the main street, but didn't see anything of Rafe or his friends. Unknown to Sylar and Doc, Rafe was on the outskirts of town with his confederates.

"Chick, I want you to ride out to Cedar's Canyon. Get a message to Dan. I want him, Tom, and Fred to get here as soon as they can."

"Rafe, why all this fuss for one man?" Chick didn't understand why Rafe wanted to make such a show of killing the sheriff, when one bullet in the right place would do it in seconds.

"You don't know him like I do. Trust me, he's not like other men. Now get on. I want you back by morning." Rafe reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep drag. He pushed his hat back, and seeing his other partner eyeing him, asked, "What is it, Henry? You got something to say, say it."

Seeing the look in Rafe's eyes, Henry said nothing. As tough as he was, he wasn't about to go up against Rafe, because Rafe had been a fixture since they were kids. More so, because he knew better than to cross him. Rafe was the sort who would shoot a friend if he thought for a moment that friend wasn't with him all the way. "No, Rafe, it's nothin'. So what's with this new sheriff?"

Rafe exhaled a cloud of smoke before answering, "He's different, that's all I know. We could have used his talents, but he refused my kindly offer of a partnership. So now, we're not only gonna take care of the sheriff, but we'll do in front of the entire town. It'll be a lesson they won't soon forget." He found his own words so amusing, that he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Clapping Henry on the back, he threw an arm around his shoulders, saying, "Let's go get us some grub and a few drinks. It'll be dark soon." As they mounted their horses and headed back to town, Rafe wondered if Sylar would soon regret his decision not to cooperate. He started laughing aloud, spurring his horse on faster toward Bowdry's Creek.

Later that day, Doc was walking down the street and saw Sylar through the window of the restaurant. He went on inside and sitting next to Sylar, asked, "How's the jaw?"

Sylar swallowed the piece of steak in his mouth. "It's fine, Doc."

"Last meal, eh?" Doc tried to downplay the seriousness of the coming situation. In spite of the things he'd seen Sylar do, Doc was worried that Rafe would kill his friend.

Sylar looked up from his plate, his eyes meeting Doc's. Knowing what he was thinking, he smiled. "If I've told you once..."

"Yes, I know. Don't worry about you. You can handle anything. Look, Sylar, I may have been jealous of the easy way you deal with Emily. You're from back East. I know you wouldn't do anything..."

"I kissed her," Sylar said, before taking a big bite of buttered potato.

Doc stopped breathing. "You what?" he shouted, then noticed prying eyes from the few customers who were eating in the restaurant. "You what?" he whispered, leaning closer.

"I kissed her. Didn't make any difference though." Sylar continued eating, waiting to see how Doc would react. "As I said before, nothing happened."

"Nothing happened? You call a kiss nothing?" Doc was almost apoplectic. He stood and paced the floor. Being a healer, he had never killed anyone, but if he'd had a gun in his hand, he might have tried now. "Why, Sylar? I trusted you as a friend. And this is what I get for..."

Sylar stood. "So what are you going to do about it? Rant at me because you haven't the guts to ask the girl to marry you?" He sat back down, returning to his supper.

Doc looked down at the man who had just admitted coming on to Emily, fury in his eyes. He sputtered sounds, clenched his fists, but left the restaurant before he did something he'd regret.

Sylar chuckled as he watched Doc leave in a huff. One thing out of the way. Now he would only think about his confrontation with Rafe. As he watched Mrs Potts refill his cup of coffee, he said, "This steak is the best I've ever tasted. You are a wonderful cook, Mrs Potts."

"Thank you, Sheriff Grey. And you are one of my favorite customers, to be sure." She, like most of the townspeople, had heard of the challenge issued by Rafe, and even though she maintained a cheerful smile, inside she worried that the new sheriff wouldn't be up to tangling with Rafe, especially since he had help now. "I have some pie in the back when you're done. You just holler if you feel up to any." She squeezed his shoulder, before going to check on other customers.

Sylar was amazed at how quickly word got around that he'd be facing Rafe. This confrontation might not be a good idea if the entire town was going to be watching. He finished up his meal, deciding to skip the pie, and headed back to the hotel.

Mrs Lawson was in the sitting room, when she saw Sylar enter the lobby. "Oh, Mr Grey. I mean, Sheriff. I have some tea and fresh baked cookies. Won't you please join me?"

Sylar assumed that she had heard the news too. It felt strange to him to have so many people caring about his welfare. He went into the parlor, and sat down in the chair opposite the settee Mrs Lawson sat on. He accepted the cup of warm tea she handed him, and took a cookie from the plate he saw sitting on the table. He bit into it, marveling again at the simple food that didn't taste anything of preservatives, but had real flavor. "This is excellent, Mrs Lawson. And the tea just hits the spot. Thank you. You're very kind."

"I may as well come out and tell you that I know what's going on tomorrow. I don't think anyone would blame you if you skipped on outta town. No doubt, Rafe and his gang will be well-heeled." She saw the look of confusion on his face. "Armed to the teeth."

Sylar nodded with comprehension. "Mrs Lawson, I may be one man, but Rafe won't have it as easy as he thinks. I promise you, I'll be fine. But...I think I should get some sleep. So if you'll excuse me..." He rose and placed the teacup on the table, flashing his most charming smile at his landlady.

"I'll be praying for you, Sheriff. You sleep well."

Her eyes showed such sadness, that Sylar couldn't resist bending to her and planting a kiss on her cheek. He saw her blush, and smiled.

"Oh, Sheriff. You do go on." She giggled like a young girl. "Good night then." She rose from the settee, and picking up the tea tray, headed for the kitchen.

Sylar went upstairs to his room. He decided to just wash up there, eshewing shaving tonight. The jug held plenty of water, so he made use of it, and lay on the bed when he was done. He placed his arms behind his head, as he thought about what tomorrow would bring. He had no fears as to what might happen, but he didn't want anyone to get hurt. If it went like the westerns he had seen as a child, everyone would be hiding. Only he and the outlaws would be out in the open. He closed his eyes, and eventually fell asleep, his dreams clouded by memories of the past.

In the morning, Emily had gone to Doc's office. She found him puttering around, doing nothing of any consequence. "Jack, are you going to just let Rafe and his men take on Sylar, by himself? Why aren't you out there finding him help?"

Doc took hold of Emily's shoulders. "Em, I know what happened. Sylar told me. If he can kiss you, dishonor you like that...well, he's no friend."

Emily pulled away. "So he kissed me, Jack. I stopped him. I told him...I told him that I love you, and no one else. I told him that I would wait for you."

Doc looked into her guileless blue eyes. "Oh, Em, I've been a fool. I've wasted so much time."

She reached up and brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. She waited, silently begging for him to kiss her. And he did. His lips pressed upon hers gently, and then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely. "Marry me, Emily." He pulled back, happy to see acceptance on her face.

"Yes, Jack, yes, I'll marry you." Her smile instantly fell, as she remembered Sylar. If he hadn't mentioned the kiss to Jack, he may never have asked her to marry him. Sylar made Jack jealous on purpose. That had to be it. "Jack, we have to help Sylar. He's going to be out there alone. One against three."

Her look was pleading, and it broke his heart. But how could he offer help to the man who'd tried to take his girl. Doc went to the window and peered out. He was still angry at Sylar. Yet, part of him wanted to be a gunman and not a doctor.

Sylar stood in the street, feeling very foolish, but if this was how Rafe wanted it, he'd comply. He hadn't worn his hat, and when he looked down into the dust, he noticed his shoes. Not the typical cowboy or other types of boots he'd seen worn. This whole thing was like something off of a movie set, or what was that movie? Westworld? And he just didn't fit in this time.

Sylar allowed his hand to drift to the gun on his left side, knowing it was only for show anyway. His eyes searched the street, noticing how oddly quiet it was. Everyone must be hiding behind locked windows and doors. He hoped no one would be watching. Stray bullets had a way of finding a target.

Rafe came from around the corner, armed with two pistols on his hips. He stood facing Sylar, giving him a hard stare, visibly challenging him.

Sylar scanned the buildings, assuming Rafe's pals were somewhere up there. Wasn't the ambush standard procedure in westerns?

While Sylar and Rafe faced each other in the street, Doc was still watching through his office window. He turned back to the fretful woman with him.

"Jack, you have to stop this. It's barbaric!"

"The sheriff has to make his place here, against Rafe and any other outlaws that think they can just come here and make the town theirs." He peered back outside, part of him wishing it didn't have to be this way. Sylar had said repeatedly he wasn't afraid of Rafe. Why was Doc worried anyway? Hadn't Sylar betrayed their friendship? Still, he didn't want him hurt, or worse.

From the street, Sylar noticed a man on the roof of the saloon pointing a rifle at him. He raised a hand only a little bit, his extended fingers twitching ever so slightly. The man flew from the roof, landing head first into a water trough. Sylar reached out and the man's rifle came to him. In an instant, it broke in half, the pieces falling to the ground.

Seeing one of his boys apparently killed by the sheriff, Rafe pulled his pistol and ran for cover, shooting at Sylar the entire time. But his bullets were not hitting his target. He watched in awe as they froze mid-air, and then somehow were shot back at him. He ducked as they flew overhead, hitting the trees behind him.

Sylar heard the cocking of a pistol behind him, and turned in time to raise his hand, staying those bullets as well. He closed his fist, then quickly spread his hand open, sending them back to their origin. That man fell dead onto the dirt street, blood already oozing from several bullet holes. Sylar briefly wondered if any of the townspeople were watching what was going on.

Rafe drew up his courage, and pulling out the other pistol, aimed straight at Sylar as he ran across the street, firing repeatedly with both pistols.

Sylar made a quick decision. His left hand pulled the revolver from its holster. He aimed at the running Rafe, but he turned the pistol on its side, his forefinger covering the barrel as he used his TK against the outlaw. But Rafe had moved out of sight around the corner of a building. Hearing a noise behind him, Sylar saw another man coming at him, rifle raised. Instead, Sylar aimed at that man, both his rifle and his chest sliced open. He fell to the ground, blood pouring from his wound to mix with the dirt beneath his body.

Rafe couldn't believe the speed at which Sylar was taking out his men one by one. Panic was beginning to set in. He re-loaded his guns, his mind trying to think of some way to kill this sheriff. Only he, Chick and Dan were left. He peeked out to see if he could see them. Chick was holed up inside the saloon, while he thought he saw Dan on the second story of the stage office. After getting Chick's attention, he signaled him to start shooting when he, Rafe, gave the go ahead. He got Dan's notice and indicated for him to shoot at the same time. Rafe didn't think Sylar would be able to hold off bullets flying at him from various directions.

Sylar whirled around, scanning the street and buildings for any more of Rafe's men. He spied the tip of a rifle sticking out from behind the "stage" sign. Thrusting out a hand, he let loose a blue arc of electricity. The rifle fell onto the ground, but the man was no where to be seen.

Rafe had enough. He signaled to Chick, and ran into the street, firing both guns at Sylar at the same time as Chick was firing his.

Sylar thrust his hand out at Rafe, a finger extended. Rafe fell to his knees, hard. He saw red covering his shirt, wetting his hand as he reached up to his throat. That bastard had somehow cut him. In disbelief, he tried to rise, but the pain was too much. He flopped over into the dirt. Lying there, he saw Sylar go down. Chick must have gotten him. It had worked. With both firing at him, he couldn't stop every bullet. Rafe smiled, feeling a thick copper liquid filling his throat. _Got you, you son-of-a bitch, _Rafe thought, dying with that smile still on his bloodied lips.

From his office, Doc saw Sylar fall in the barrage of gunfire. "Stay here!" he told Emily. He ran outside, falling at his side. He grabbed Sylar's now unattended gun, and aimed at Chick. The outlaw fell through the saloon doors, and onto the sidewalk. Doc was breathing hard as he scanned the street. He heard nor saw anyone. That must have been all of them. He didn't know how, but Sylar had taken down most of them. He dropped the pistol, stunned for a moment. He'd never killed a man before. Now he had to make sure another didn't die.

Emily could stand it no longer. She opened the door and ran into the street, kneeling on the other side of Sylar, tears already streaming down her face. She watched as Doc placed his head on Sylar's chest.

"I hear his heart, but it's very faint. Let's get him inside." Without waiting for anyone, Doc grabbed Sylar under the shoulders, as Emily grabbed his feet. Together, they barely got him into the building, but once there, Doc washed up, and taking some of his tools, he started to work on Sylar. He would need to remove the bullets if they weren't in a sensitive area. Heart or lungs were the worst, but if any organ was hit, it might mean surgery would be needed quickly.

"He's dying, isn't he, Jack." Emily helped by having towels ready to clean away the blood so they could see what damage had been done. She waited as Doc ripped open Sylar's shirt. There was plenty of blood, to be sure.

"He's lost a lot of blood, Emily, I won't lie to you." Doc prayed the heart hadn't been hit. As he started to feel the chest area for damage, in astonishment, he watched as a bullet seemed to ooze from one of the wounds. It lay on Sylar's chest, the wound then healing beneath it. He saw another and still another, as one by one, bullets left his body, the wounds sealing up instantly. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, but looking up at Emily, he saw that she was watching the same miracle.

Within moments, Sylar returned to consciousness. He looked up into two pairs of eyes, one set brown, the other blue. He started to prop himself up on his elbows, but Doc gently pushed him down. "Careful there, Sheriff. You've been shot. Several times, in fact." He held out his hand, showing Sylar the spent bullets that had found their way out of his body. "Is there something you want to tell us?"

**A/N : thank you, readers, for the continuing encouragement. I hope this chapter did justice to the title. Please review if you wish. And if you see any errors of spelling or grammar, let me know so I can fix it. Thanks much!**


	11. Chapter 11

**The showdown is over. Now Sylar has to decide whether or not to take Doc into his confidence. Can he trust the good country doctor?**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part eleven**

Sylar sat up on the table and looked at the extended hand holding several spent shells. He touched his exposed chest and belly. There was smeared blood but no holes, the wounds now completely healed. Sylar looked up at Doc from beneath dark brows.

"I think you've got some explaining to do," Doc pushed. He had seen some of what Sylar could do, but today was extraordinary. "How does a man get shot as many times as you did, and not die?"

"Doc, I could explain everything, but I don't think..."

Suddenly there was a ruckus out front. A man rushed into Doc's office, calling out to him. "Doc! You gotta come, quick!."

Doc left the shells on the table, and headed outside. Sylar drew his shirt closed, buttoning his vest and followed. Hearing no more gunshots, the townspeople slowly emerged from their homes and places of business. They went around to the bodies scattered around town, bringing them to Doc's office. A crowd was gathering, surrounding the outlaws. Some murmured as they gawked at the dead men. A couple examined the bodies.

"Rafe's dead."

"Who are these others?"

"Look at that one. He's been sliced plumb open."

"This one's alive!" someone shouted. "We heard a noise on the stage building, and found him lying up there." The man was holding the outlaw's rifle.

Doc and Sylar went over to the survivor. Doc squatted next to him, amazed at the burns all over his body. His shirt had been virtually burned from his body, his flesh a mix of raw, red meat and blackened skin. He was barely alive, trying to raise a hand towards Doc. "What is it?" he asked, letting the man grab his arm.

While Sylar stood to the side, the man locked eyes with his. They grew wide with fear. "Sher...iff...Sher..."

Sylar stood just outside the crowd, his arms at his side. Unseen by anyone, he formed his hand into a loose grip, sealing the man's throat from any oxygen, until at last he slumped over and died.

Doc checked his heart, but there was no sound. He lay his hand against the man's face and felt no breath. "He's gone." He looked up at Sylar. "I've never seen him before, but he seemed to be trying to tell you something. He was probably one of Rafe's men, but how did he get so badly burned?" Doc stood, brushing his hands on his pants. "Fellas, can you get them out of the street and onto the porch. And can someone go to the wood maker's, tell him we need 6 more coffins." Doc shook his head. "I don't think we've needed so many coffins in a year as we have this month. Come on, Sheriff. Let's get you cleaned up." They headed into his office.

Doc's words brought everyone's attention to the new sheriff, who seemed quite unscathed after just facing down Rafe and his men. Hadn't someone said he'd been shot? Yet he looked fine. They realized that, in any case, their sheriff had defeated the notorious Rafe Matheson, so now their town was theirs once more. They would have to find some way to thank him, and keep him around.

Doc washed up, the feeling of greasy human flesh still on his hands. "So, Sylar, have you decided to share anything with me?"

"Oh, Jack, leave him alone," Emily interjected. She handed Sylar a damp towel, and went to face Doc. "He has done something wonderful for this town. You should be grateful, instead of interrogating him like...like some lawman. He's our sheriff, for goodness sake!"

"Emily, can you leave us alone? Look, I'll be by your place tonight." He leaned in and kissed her cheek, an action that Sylar didn't miss.

"Alright. But you stop pestering him." She went over to Sylar. "Thank you for saving our town." She leaned in closer and whispered. "And thank you for whatever it was you said to Jack. He asked me to marry him." She grinned shyly, lightly touched Sylar's hand, and left.

Sylar watched Doc as he dried his hands, saying, "So you finally asked her."

Doc turned. "Yep. You convinced me I was being a hard head. Now as for you..." He again picked up the spent shells. "I really want to know what happened out there, Sylar. I was watching, but I still don't know how you did it. One against six. It's just not possible." Doc gathered his thoughts. He liked Sylar, he'd asked him to stay on as sheriff, and yet he felt more than ever that he knew nothing about the man. "Look, Sylar. I have no reason to interfere in a way that...will get you into trouble. You've rid the town of vermin no one here had the guts to confront, including me. I admit to not knowing your past, except for a few things you've told me. And since you arrived here, you've been secretive for the most part. Is there some reason you ended up in Bowdry's Creek? Are you running from something or someone? You can trust me, Sylar." He tried another tact. "I consider you a friend. And I'm sorry I was jealous, but I guess you know that what you said was like a kick in the pants. So I thank you for that."

Sylar waited, trying to decide how much he should tell Doc, if anything. The man was curious and seemed to be fishing for information, but why.

"Alright, Sylar. I'm going to show you how much **I **trust **you.** The day of Sheriff Dagget's funeral, I was on my way back to town and had just come around the corner of the stable. I saw you and Rafe talking. Then I saw...I don't know what I saw. You threw him into the street after stopping bullets from his gun. I mean stopping them dead in the air. I haven't said anything to anyone about that, not even Emily." He let that bit of news sink in.

"Doc, there are some things people here wouldn't understand. They didn't understand...where I come from, I'm hunted like an animal."

"New York City?" Doc asked.

Sylar nodded. "Yes, in New York, and elsewhere. I'm considered a monster back there." He tilted his head, looking into Doc's eyes to see what sort of reaction he would get. But he was surprised to see only someone willing to listen. Maybe confiding in this man wouldn't be a bad thing. He said he'd seen some of what Sylar could do, and even though he too had wanted something from him, it was for the good of the town and not for personal gain. And he wasn't afraid of him, Sylar could see that. "You're right, Doc, I was shot, several times. But I can't be killed."

Doc frowned while he digested that one sentence. '...I can't be killed' So that explained the bullets leaving his body, and the wounds spontaneously healing. As a doctor, he was fascinated by anyone having the ability to do that. "So you were shot but healed. And the other things I saw?"

Sylar paced a bit, then turned on Doc with a hard on his face. His eyes darkened as he made his admission. "I have...abilities, powers to do things that average people can't. Are you sure you want to know everything?"

Doc leaned against the counter, arms folded. He nodded. "Tell me anything you want me to know."

Sylar nodded back. He inhaled, holding his breath a fraction of a second before exhaling. "Alright, Doc, you're right. I can...do things." He held up his hand toward the equipment table, and a scalpel flew into the open palm. He saw the look of amazement on Doc's face but continued. Holding the scalpel in one hand, he sliced through the skin of his other right above the wrist. Sylar winced as blood briefly flowed, staunched and ceased.

Doc quickly went over to check the hand, but the cut had sealed itself and showed no sign that it had ever been there. "I don't believe it. It's incredible. No wonder you weren't afraid of Rafe. He couldn't do anything to hurt you."

"There's more." Sylar held up the very hand that he'd cut, fingers pointing upward, and let blue electricity dance over each fingertip. He thrust the hand out toward the wall, charring the paint and wood beneath.

Doc was already heading for the spot, touching the still-warm, blackened wood. Then he realized what had happened to the one outlaw left alive. "You killed him by some sort of electrocution. I've heard of that. It's what caused the burns." He came back towards Sylar. "Is there anything else you can do?"

"There are other things. Some powers I rarely use." Sylar kept his body very still, then elevated upwards a few feet. "Like flying. It's useful at times, but I've gotten used to riding a horse it seems. I actually enjoy it." He smiled at his weak attempt at humor. He just didn't know what Doc was thinking.. He wished he had the ability to read minds, but he never had the chance to get that from the one person he knew who had it. He might have been able to get into Parkman's brain one day, if he'd still been in the 21st century.

"You can fly?" Doc's mouth was open in awe, as he watched the sheriff of Bowdry's Creek levitate several feet off the floor. As he waited for Sylar to literally come back down to earth, he asked him one question that he truly dreaded the answer to. "Have you...killed anyone else besides Rafe and his gang?"

Sylar's head whipped towards Doc. So he wanted to know more than just what powers he had. He wanted to know what he'd done with them. He saw no reason to lie. Doc had been telling the truth when he said he could be trusted. But if he admitted killing the old man, would he keep his secret. "Yes, back home, I killed. Maybe it would help you to understand me, if you knew that it started with one singular ability. But from that grew the desire to have more. It's like a hunger and I can't control it. If I knew of anyone who had a power I didn't have, I wanted it enough to go after them. Killing was just a preference."

"Preference? You mean you didn't have to kill anyone, but you did anyway? Why?" Doc wondered if he was learning too much about the man he had called friend. If Sylar killed for pleasure...

"You can't know what it's like, Doc. Sometimes I get this...need,...it fills me, and satisfies me when it's fulfilled. It's the most powerful feeling in the world. There's nothing I can't do. It makes me...special." His eyes searched Doc's for any response that the other man might not care to articulate. He thought he might have seen realization, or disgust.

Doc eyed the floor as his mind raced. Hank Ramsey. "You killed Hank, didn't you."

"Yes, I did. He had an ability. You remember what he said about knowing where gold was in the ground? He did. He could find any organic metal just by sensing it. If he'd had the equipment to get at it, he'd have been a wealthy man. It would be a useful power to have in the future, where they can..." Instantly, he stopped talking.

Sylar had brought up one aspect of all this that had gone unspoken, but Doc wasn't stupid. Again, his mind clicked at small details. The coins. "Those gold coins you had. Were those really serial numbers?" Doc remembered the day he'd met Sylar, how out of place he'd seemed, and how he'd appeared to have fallen out of the sky. "Were those dates?"

Sylar said nothing. If Doc thought he had the answer to his own question, let him say it aloud.

"They were, weren't they. I knew it! Now let's see. The largest date was 2009, so you come from at least that year. Maybe later even," he said, his mind awhirl with crazy thoughts, yet they made sense now. Without waiting for confirmation, he asked, "How did you come here? I mean, is traveling through time commonplace in your future world?" He hesitated when he asked, "Does everyone have the same powers? That wouldn't make for a pleasant future, I would think."

Finally, Sylar decided to put a halt to the speculation. "No, Doc, only some people have powers. Most just want to fit in and live their lives as normally as possible. Some need to feel special, and make use of them, for good or bad." Brown eyes met and challenged.

"Like you. So many gifts that you abuse, Sylar, according to you. I don't understand."

Fingers twitching powerlessly, he protested. "Since coming here, and I assure you, it wasn't my choice, I've found a place where maybe I can do good. I did kill Hank Ramsey, but since then I've tried to control the hunger within me. Don't worry, there aren't any others with abilities in town. I'd know. If you say nothing to anyone, Doc, I can still do good for this place and the people here. If I'm stuck in this time, it's better than any alternative I can think of." He looked at Doc, his expression hopeful, a faint smile asking for absolution.

But Doc couldn't give it. He couldn't forgive Sylar for killing a harmless old man, but the way he'd gotten rid of Rafe and his gang partially made up for it. Perhaps in time, his silence would buy complete forgiveness for a man who seemed to desperately want it. Could the kindness, respect and love of the people in this town turn him around? "Do you want to stay here then?"

"For now, yes. It's not as if going back to New York in this time would be the same. A lot has happened in the world, or will happen, in the next 100 plus years. I'll admit that when I first arrived, I thought I would have this place under my thumb in no time. Then Rafe showed me what that person would have been like, and I didn't like him. Later, with so many people giving me the respect I never had back home, it made me think I could change." He moved closer to his friend. "I can't promise I won't use my abilities, but against the town? Not if I can help it."

Doc placed a hand on Sylar's shoulder. "If you need any help, my friend, you let me know. Now, is there **anything** else you **haven't** told me?" he asked, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"Well, there is one ability that I haven't shown you yet." Sylar stood in front of Doc, staring at him.

Doc stared back, noticing that Sylar's facial features were wavering, losing cohesion. His body was shrinking and growing a bit stouter, if that were possible. Moments later, in complete disbelief, Doc found himself staring at...himself! His mind couldn't accept that Sylar had just become Doc, a perfect duplicate if he was any judge. No one looks like they see themselves in a mirror, but the size, build and coloring were right. Doc ran a hand through his hair, leaving it on his cheek, his mouth open.

Just then, the door opened. In walked Emily, one hand shielding her eyes from the bodies lying on the porch, partially covered by tarps. She saw Doc and asked him, "Jack, what's taking you two so long? Everyone's asking for you both." She turned to Sylar, only it wasn't Sylar. It was...Jack. Her head swung back to the other Jack. Her mind, refusing to acknowledge what she was seeing, shut down, and she fell to the floor in a dead faint.


	12. Chapter 12

**Sylar finds being alone is not to his fancy. **

**But why is he thinking of someone who should be off-limits? **

**Warning: sexual scene but nothing too explicit.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part twelve**

Doc picked up Emily and lay her on the small cot in the back room. He turned to Sylar, demanding, "Would you turn into yourself again? I don't want her waking up to find two of me. I have so much to think about as it is, what with you...please, Sylar."

Sylar complied, letting his face waver, then solidify into its normal features. He waited for Doc to see to Emily, walking around the office, wondering if he'd made a mistake in revealing himself. It would be easy to remedy the situation, should Doc betray him, but the idea of killing the man wasn't something Sylar wanted to think about. Few people willingly placed their lives in his hands. Yet this man had, knowing it could be the worst decision he'd ever make. "Doc," he called out. When the man came out from the back, Sylar waited a moment, then stared at him, unblinking. "You won't mention any of this to anyone."

Doc had an idea the statement was more a warning than a question. He returned Sylar's gaze unwaveringly. "No, I won't. That's one reason why I don't want Emily involved in this in any way. She may know about the spontaneous healing, but we'll leave it at that for now. No explanations."

"She's no fool. She will ask questions." Sylar admonished.

"I'll deal with that later," Doc replied, not really sure how he would deal with it.

Sylar heard a sound from the backroom, knowing Emily was coming around. He followed Doc as he went to her, and helped her to sit up.

"Are you alright, Em?" Doc asked solicitously. He had poured a bit of water into a cup and was letting her sip from it.

Emily looked at Doc, then at Sylar, who was standing nearby. She blinked and rubbed an eye. It had to have been a mistake. She hadn't really seen two Jacks, surely. She swung her legs over the side of the cot, and with Doc's help, she stood, still a bit shaky. She reached up, and patted her hair into place. Breathing deeply helped clear her head. She had to feel better soon, since with all the excitement of the day, she had not been at the store, and it wasn't going to run itself.

Both Doc and Sylar, one on each side of her, led her to the outer room. "Sure you're ok?" Doc asked, clearly concerned.

"Yes, much better" She turned to Sylar. "Are you ok?"

Sylar glanced quickly at Doc, and responded with a smile, "Yep, right as rain. Doc, I'm going to go outside and check on the dead men. You have everything in hand here?"

Doc knew what he meant and said, "Yes, I'll take care of it." He saw the look on Sylar's face and repeated, "I will."

Sylar tilted his head, cocking one eyebrow, and left the building. Once outside, he called over a few men and told them to get the bodies over to the wood crafter's building. "Anyone with experience help get the coffins made so we can get those men buried." Satisfaction filled him as he watched men jump at his call, following his orders without question. He recalled the time he worked with Noah as an agent for The Company, and how easily he had slipped into that role, giving orders, and watching as they were followed. Noah wasn't happy about that, but then, he never was when something had to do with Sylar.

Billy offered to clean the blood from the walkway, so he ran and got a bucket from the stable, repeatedly filling it with water from a nearby trough. He flushed the walkway until it was clean of all telling evidence of the fight that killed six men.

As Sylar walked along, he noticed a palpable change in the townspeople. There was no more shifting of the eyes from right to left, as if searching for something. And there were smiles, many directed at him. He played the part, and tipped his hat to the women, and "howdy-ed" the men. He was beginning to feel at home here. Maybe the Japanese man decided he'd not return for him. Would Sylar mind that so much?

As he came to the Sheriff's office, he stopped and looked over to Doc's office. He saw Doc and Emily standing out front. Doc leaned forward and kissed Emily. He then led her back to the store, their arms entwined. Sylar felt a twinge of loneliness, an emotion fairly foreign to him. Oh, he'd had women, and some he had even enjoyed being with. But it was never a priority. Now, he found himself wanting someone to spend time with. With that thought in mind, he headed over to the saloon.

When Sylar stepped through the saloon doors, his eyes immediately went to the woman he had spoken with before. She was sitting at a table, talking with a cowboy. Was it his imagination, or was she not into the man. He walked on over, his shadow falling over her.

She looked up, a smile spontaneously lighting up her face. "Hello, Sheriff Gray. How are you today?"

"Are you busy?" he asked.

Cherise stood, and turned toward Sylar.

"Hey, where are you going?" the cowboy protested.

"Prior engagement, sweetie. Talk to Pauline. She'll take good care of you," Cherise responded, never taking her eyes from Sylar. She entwined her arm with his, and led him upstairs. Then she stopped, and looked at him. "This is what you want, isn't it?" She was afraid he'd say no. Instead, he merely smiled, and the two started up the stairs together.

Once they reached her room, she entered and stood aside, allowing him to come in. She lit the small lamp at the side of the table, removed her simple dress, and stood before him in her petticoat and camisole.

Sylar noticed her plain beauty, one not enhanced by cosmetics. Her hair was a natural red, long with a slight curl. He went over to her, and placing a hand beneath her chin, he bent low to kiss her, as she was shorter than him by at least 8 inches. Her lips were soft and pliable, as he pushed his tongue between them. He heard her gasp as he sucked on her lower lip. Then he bit it, drawing blood.

Cherise gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. It came away bloodied.

Without a word, Sylar kissed her again, sucking the blood that oozed from the bite, until it stopped. "See? All better."

As he pulled back, she smiled and reached up, taking his hat off and placing it on her own head. "You're a large man, Sheriff. Does that apply to everything?" she asked coyly.

His hands roamed her shoulders, when he grabbed her upper arms, pulling her close. "No games, Cherise. I'm not one of your clients." He removed the hat from her head, tossing it on the chair sitting in the corner. "By the way, my name is Sylar," he said, before taking her into his arms, pressing her body to his as he kissed her mouth, then buried his face in her neck, taking in the scent of her. He noticed the slight hint of soap, and was glad that she bathed, a rare commodity for many in this time.

He felt her hands busily working at his pants, so he stepped back a bit. She reached for him, removing his vest and letting it fall to the floor. "You're such a brave man, Sylar. Taking on all those gunmen. You don't know how grateful the town is."

He lifted her chin, and looked into her green eyes. "I don't want their gratitude. I want yours." He pulled her camisole over her head, and watched as she stepped out of her petticoat, standing naked before him. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, laying her down on it. He took off his shirt, then let his pants slip over his hips, noticing the look of appreciation on her face as he stepped out of them and came toward the bed.

Cherise had hoped the sheriff would take notice of her since she first saw him, as all the girls did. She had offered her services to him, but he'd refused, disappointing her desire to bed him. But here he was now, standing before her, in all his naked beauty. Even if he never came to her again, Cherise would make sure to enjoy every moment of this visit. As he hovered over her lying there, she held out her arms to him, taking pleasure in the warmth of his skin. He was so different from the men she usually spent time with. They often were crude, and smelled of horse or liquor. Sylar was like no man she had ever met in this town. "You can put out the lamp, if you like."

Sylar wanted to see every inch of her. "Leave it lit," he said. He lay beside her, letting her pull him to her. Cherise draped one of her legs over him, as he settled comfortably between them. His lips roamed her cheek, then moved to her ear, which he nibbled gently. Spurred on by her soft moans, Sylar moved lower, suckling first on one breast, then the other. His fingers danced over and within her, feeling the familiar wetness. His goal was to drive her to a frenzy of pleasure, before he entered her.

Cherise felt as if her body was on fire. She clawed at Sylar's back, wanting him inside her. "Please," was all she managed to utter. She inhaled quickly, as her lover finally plunged into her, catching her off guard. But instead of taking his pleasure in her body as so many of her clients did, he waited for her to get accustomed to him, before pulling out and thrusting in once more.

Despite his initial roughness with her, Sylar had decided to be gentle with Cherise. But as he felt himself encompassed in her moist warmth, Emily intruded into his thoughts. He was surprised that he would think of her now, of all times. He saw her pretty face, the easy smile she often gave him. Sylar pushed the image from his mind. Emily belonged to someone else, and that someone else was his friend. He pulled Cherise over him, so that she was now on top. His hands rested on her hips, guiding them to do what he wanted of her. "Ride me," he whispered.

Cherise smiled, and did as he said. For the first time, she was taking her pleasure of a man, instead of simply being used for someone else's sexual relief. She moved over Sylar, rose and fell, until at last she couldn't hold back the flood of pleasure that filled her. Cherise cried out as an orgasm took hold of her. That had not happened very often in all the years she serviced men. She let Sylar continue to thrust into her, until she felt him spasm inside her.

Sylar felt his heart beating rapidly, as his own orgasm drove him to the peak of ecstasy and down again. He buried his face in Cherise's neck, then kissed her shoulder before pulling her off him and tucking her next to him. One arm encircled her as he kissed the top of her head.

"Sylar, I have to tell you, you're like no man I know..." Cherise started to say, but she was cut off by her bed-mate.

"Shhh...don't talk." He nestled closer to her warm body, and closed his eyes. It wasn't long before both of them had fallen asleep.

The next morning, as the light from an intrusive sun poured through the window, Sylar rose from the bed and started to dress. He felt a hand slide up his back. Turning to her, he leaned over and kissed Cherise deeply, before saying, "I have to go."

"You won't have breakfast first?" she asked, wanting him to stay with her longer.

"No, I have to get to the office." He pulled some money from his pocket and set it on the side table.

"I'm not charging you, Sylar," Cherise said, a bit put out that, after the passionate sex they'd had, he would treat her as her clients always had. Sex, followed by payment. She got up and threw on a lacy robe. "I don't want your money." She reached for it, but was surprised to feel his hand on hers, pulling it off the pile of bills.

"This is not for the sex we had last night, Cherise. This is for you, to use as you need, for whatever you want. There's more where that came from." Sylar took her in his arms, looked into her questioning eyes and clarified. "I want you to stop seeing other men. I'll take care of all your needs, while you take care of mine. You will see me exclusively. Is that understood?"

Cherise was actually happy. This was what she wanted the moment she saw the new sheriff. And now he was all hers. The other girls would be jealous of her, but that didn't mean anything. As she slipped her arms around Sylar's waist, she said, "I agree. But try not to make it sound so much like a business deal. I like being with you. You make me feel things I haven't felt before. I'll be yours completely, anytime you want me." She stood on tiptoe, and reaching up, pulled his head down so that she could kiss him more fully.

Sylar groaned, as he pulled away. "I have to go." It had been so long since he'd had sex, he felt that the one time wasn't enough for him to sate his desire, but he decided he would be back and soon. "I'll see you later." He grabbed his hat, and cupping her cheek, smiled at her before leaving her room and the saloon.

Sylar walked towards his office, stopping first at the outhouse behind it. After he had relieved himself, he went inside and removing his hat, sat at his desk and made some notes on a piece of paper. There were several things he wanted to check on and didn't want to forget them. He stopped writing for a moment, thinking back to his love-making with Cherise. He found her pretty and amiable, someone who would cause him no trouble. But the fact that he had thought of Emily disturbed him. Granted, he had kissed her before Doc had proposed, but she told him honestly that she loved his friend as she could never love him. Why would he even care?

He continued jotting down his notes, and folding the paper, tucked it into his shirt pocket. He was going to have to be careful about letting his emotions control him. He had done that before, more than once, and it almost destroyed him. Besides, why invest himself anymore than he had, since for all he knew, the Japanese guy would return and pull him back home. _Home_. He wasn't even sure he wanted to go back home. He had nothing there, and in this place and time, he was liked and needed. Maybe he would just like to be stuck here after all.

_Stay away, time traveler. If you do return, I may decide to kill you. _

**A/N: sorry for the update delay. I have been sick, AND my muse has been AWOL. All my stories are suffering, but I hope to update the others soon. Comments welcome, as always. **

**If you have not read it already, do check out A Sylar Christmas Carol, written last year for the holiday season. **

**Merry Christmas, everyone!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sylar finds out that the town is giving him a gift. But how long will he be around to enjoy it? That's the question he asks himself.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Part thirteen**

Sylar was sitting at his desk at the jail, when Doc walked in, a wide smile on his face. Sylar greeted him, "Hi, Doc. Why are you so happy?"

Doc removed his hat and sat in a chair opposite Sylar's desk. " Hmm, guess that's leftover from seeing Emily this morning. There was something I wanted to tell you though. I found some men who will help get Sheriff Dagget's place fixed up nice and proper for you. As soon as we're done, you can move right in. What do you think?"

Sylar figured that as long as he was here, he may as well take up full residence. He wasn't sure of his future, but may as well live it as if the situation was permanent. "Thanks, Doc. I'd like that. I can help out too."

"Do you know anything about carpentry?" he asked plainly. Sylar may have many talents, but Doc didn't think working hard labor with his hands was one of them.

"There may be other ways I can help," Sylar pointed out with a wry grin.

Doc looked askance at his friend. Then he snorted a laugh, imaging the ways Sylar could help. "Come on. Let's go see the place. You know, one of these days, I want to sit down with you and have a nice long talk."

Sylar knew what Doc wanted to talk about. He had hoped to avoid giving any details of who and what he was, and where he came from.

Together they went to the stable, where Billy already had Noah and another horse saddled and ready to go. Doc must have taken care of that before coming to see him. Sylar mounted Noah and let Doc lead the way.

As they rode in silence, a thought hit Sylar about the shootout, and how Doc had come to his defense. It couldn't have been easy for the peaceful healer, and it made Sylar feel regret over the whole incident. Not his killing the men, of course. That had been necessary, and was even pleasurable in a way. "Doc, about the shootout. I'm sorry that you had to take up a firearm to protect me, you not knowing that it wasn't necessary. I'm grateful, of course, but I hope you're not harboring any resentment towards me for causing you to..."

Doc knew what Sylar was getting at. "No need to apologise. I would do it again. I know I took an oath never to harm anyone, but sometimes, you have to do what you have to do. This is wild country, even if it seems civilized. Nothing like the big city, is it? There, the law protects the citizens, but here, we have a sheriff. Now if **he's** under attack, and the townspeople don't jump in, who will protect the sheriff?"

Sylar looked over at his friend. The townspeople were too afraid to 'jump in' as Doc put it. But Doc being a decent man, had put his sense of justice over his Hippocratic oath.

"Let's not talk any more about it. It's over and done with." Doc's horse trotted on ahead, Sylar letting Noah catch up. "There it is up ahead. You're home away from home," he said, meaning the jail.

Sylar looked at the small house. At least it wasn't some shack in the woods. It was a nice, if a bit beat up, wooden house. Already some men were replacing plank siding, while others were repainting the areas that had already been repaired.

"Hello, Sheriff. Doc," one of the men called out. As Sylar and Doc rode up, he smiled proudly. "How do you like the place? Oh, we're not done yet, but don't worry. It'll be right as rain when we're finished."

Sylar nodded. "Looks good, Jared. My thanks to you and the others." He dismounted, and walked over to his new home. He was surprised to see Cherise there. She was dressed very conservatively, hat included. When she saw him, she came over.

"Hello, Sheriff," she said, not wanting anyone to hear anything less than appropriate. "I heard they were fixing up the house, and I wanted to help out."

"Oh?" he asked, one eyebrow cocked.

Cherise stood with one hand on her hip, looking up at Sylar with annoyance on her face. " Yes. I can sew, you know." When she heard him laugh, she relaxed and laughed along with him. "I thought I would measure the windows for new curtains. I can get the fabric from the mercantile. It will take me a few days, but they'll look nice once I've gotten them hung. They'll add a homey touch to the place."

"That's very sweet of you, Cherise. So...why are you dressed like a schoolteacher?"

"Sylar, the women in town look their noses down at me for giving pleasure to men for money. I don't really care what they think of me, but when I go out, I do like to dress like I'm respectable."

Sylar held the woman by the arms, pulling her closer. "You don't need to worry about that. You don't work in that business anymore. And if they know you're my woman, maybe they won't bother you." He leaned down and kissed her firmly, not caring if anyone saw them. Sylar was making a point to anyone who bothered to look. He drew back, and taking her hand, led Cherise to the house, where they entered through the front door into the living room. Things weren't as bad as he had expected. The furniture was clean if simple. There was also a small table with two chairs off the kitchen. That room had a small wood burning stove that looked barely used. Obviously Sheriff Dagget rarely cooked at home. They ventured into the bedroom where a bed and dresser stood.

"Guess I'll need some linens," Sylar observed. He felt Cherise link her arm into his.

"It looks suitable enough," she said, grinning. Abruptly, she went over to the window, pulling a long piece of string from her pocket. She began to measure the windows, using the marked length of string. "What color do you like?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Sylar thought a moment and responded, "Blue will do, I guess." He watched her work for a few minutes, then said he was going to find Doc, leaving her smiling as she returned to her task.

Once outside, he found his friend talking over some details with the town woodmaker. When he saw Sylar approaching, he nodded to the man and turned to Sylar. "Everything looks good. Oh, by the way, I wanted to give you a message from Emily. A large package arrived for you."

"Must be the clothes I'd ordered," he guessed. "Good, I was getting to be known as the one suit sheriff."

Doc laughed, tipping his hat back on his head. "Well, she said you can come pick it up any time. Tell you what, you go take care of that. I'll manage things here. Won't be long before you can move in."

Sylar placed a hand on Doc's shoulder. "I'll do that now. Would you tell Cherise I'm going back into town? She's inside measuring for curtains."

"Sylar, are you involved with the girl from the saloon? I mean, it's none of my business, but as sheriff, you have a certain, well, reputation to uphold."

With some annoyance in his voice, he replied, "I know my responsibilities, Doc, but Cherise isn't an issue. She doesn't work at the saloon anymore. She only lives there. I'm taking care of her from now on. Do you have a problem with that?"

Why did Doc always feel he had to tread carefully around this man? Am I afraid of him, he asked himself. Doc knew Sylar would never hurt him, or would he? He looked his friend in the eye and shook his head. "No, Sylar, not at all. If you say she's reforming, then it's ok with me."

Sylar realized that maybe he had come off a bit harsh. "Sorry, Doc, I don't mean to be touchy. In my time, it wouldn't be as big a deal as it seems to be here. Different time, different morals. I'll see you later." He mounted Noah and rode of toward town.

Sylar headed toward the mercantile, dismounted and tied Noah to the railing in front. As he entered the store, a pair of eyes followed him.

"I finally found you, Sheriff," a voice whispered to no one in particular. "Now to take care of you."

**A/N : I know this chapter is short, but I've been on vacation in NYC seeing Zach Quinto perform in Angels In America. I actually got to meet him too! What a great moment that was. I even made him chuckle. He's so not like Sylar, but a polite man who cares about his fans. He was quite tired, and wanted to leave, but stayed and signed autographs and posed for pictures. What a sweetie!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry it has taken me so long to update this story. I started on some Tron Legacy stories and they were on my mind, so were easier to work on. To recap, Sylar has been transported back to the Old West by Hiro, where he found himself recruited by the local doctor to be sheriff. The town was being terrorized by a gunslinger punk and his gang, whom Sylar killed in an old fashioned showdown. Now that peace reigns once more, Sylar decides that since he had nothing back home, and the townsfolk appreciate him, he may as well stay and make a new life for himself. Takes place just before the end of season three. **

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Chapter Fourteen**

"Hello, Emily," Sylar said, greeting the woman with a smile. "Doc said you had my package."

"Good day, Sylar. Yes, it finally arrived. Quicker than usual." She bent down behind the counter and brought up a paper wrapped package from the bottom shelf.

Sylar had to hide his grin. How things had changed, right down to mail delivery. _For the better, to be sure, since she thought his receiving his clothing order had been quick_, he thought. "Thank you, Emily," he said, picking up the package. "How much do I owe you?" he asked.

"I'll add to your tab, and you can pay me later," she replied.

"Tell you what," he offered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some bills. He placed them on the counter. "Consider this pre-payment. Whenever I buy something, you can subtract it from my credit. And by the way, if Cherise ever comes here to buy anything, take the payment from my credit as well."

Emily looked up at Sylar, a frown on her face. "Cherise? One of the saloon girls?"

Sylar stared down at Emily, causing the young woman to blush bright pink. "Yes, her. From now on, anything she needs to purchase, I'll pay for." He flashed another grin, and turned to leave. "Thank you again, Emily." Sylar could tell that Emily wasn't too happy by his choice of women, but she had her man in Doc, so why would she care whom Sylar saw. He left the store, and stood awhile on the walkway as he scanned the street. People went about their business, with little remembrance of what had happened with Rafe and his gang. Peace was the norm now.

Sylar went up to Noah, and tied the package to the saddle. He patted the horse's neck, and taking the reins, led him back to the hotel. Once there, Sylar tied him to a hitching post that stood outside, and went up to his room to put his new clothing away. As he sorted through what he had purchased, he still wondered how long he would be here. It was funny to him, but in thinking about it, the word trapped didn't come to mind. He actually felt that he was beginning to like it here.

Down in the street, a young man stood, looking up at the hotel. He wondered which room the sheriff was in. Then he decided confronting him inside wouldn't be the best idea. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked back to the stable, where he'd left his horse and belongings. When he did face the sheriff, he'd need his gun. Then they'd all see who was a nobody. They'd all see.

Sylar went downstairs and ran into Mrs Lawson, who was holding a plate of warm cookies. "Hello, Sheriff Gray. Some of us are taking tea in the drawing room. Care to join us?"

"Not right now, Mrs Lawson. I have some work to do at the jail. But thank you all the same."

"Well, dear, have one for the road," she offered, holding the plate towards him.

They did look good, so he grabbed two, causing the hotel owner to laugh. "You never could resist, could you, Sheriff?"

He leaned in and planted a kiss on the woman's cheek. "You're a wonderful baker, Mrs Lawson. See you later." Sylar left the hotel and went over to Noah. Mounting the horse, they headed for the stable. "Come on, boy, let's get you something to eat."

Billy saw the sheriff coming, and ran out to greet him. "Howdy, Sheriff! How are things? Doc didn't come back with you?" he asked, taking hold of Noah's bridle. He waited until Sylar had dismounted, then led the horse to his stall. "I heard some of the town are fixin' up Sheriff Daggett's place for you. If you need any help, you just let me know."

"Sure, Billy, and thanks for taking care of Noah." Sylar knew if he didn't leave soon, Billy would talk his ear off. The kid was ok, so he let him prattle on for a bit, then said he had to go.

In another stall, the young man who had been following Sylar all day ducked down when he heard the sheriff's voice. He waited, slipping his gun from his saddle bag, and tucking it into his pants belt. He crawled over and peeked out, watching as Billy and Sylar talked. Sitting back, he plucked a strand of straw off the floor, twirling it nervously. He would wait until he could the sheriff alone.

As Sylar left through the front doors of the stable, the man who was watching him slipped out between two loose boards at the back. He circled around, waiting for the sheriff to cross his path. His breathing increased as nervousness filled him. But he wouldn't change his mind. He had to confront this sheriff if he was to be anybody. He removed the pistol from his belt, but his hand was so sweaty, he was afraid he'd drop it. Holding the gun in his other hand, he wiped the palm of his right hand against his pants leg. _Don't back down now_, he told himself. He gripped the pistol tightly now, feeling the cool metal. His thumb cocked back the hammer, as he waited for Sylar to appear.

Just then, Sylar turned the corner of the building. He looked up to see the young man, a boy really, pointing a gun at him. He lowered his head, his eyes boring into the boy from beneath dark brows. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked in a warning tone.

"You're the sheriff of this town. I heard about you, and the way you took out Rafe Matheson's gang. If I take you out, that makes me a big man, and people'll be afraid of me."

Sylar shook his head. This kid wanted people to be afraid of him. How long ago had it been when Sylar had wanted the same thing? "What's your name, kid?"

"If you want to know who killed you, my name's Luke." He tried to summon his bravado, but was finding it difficult now that he was face-to-face with the legendary man himself.

The small grin on Sylar's face vanished. Luke was the name of the kid he'd met in New Jersey, the one who had latched onto him when Sylar was looking for his father. This boy reminded him of that snot-nosed brat. "You don't want to do this, kid. Consider this a friendly suggestion."

Beads of sweat formed on Luke's forehead and upper lip. He wiped his empty hand on his jeans again. He wondered why it was so hot. _Do it_, he told himself. All he had to do was aim, pull the trigger, and shoot. With the sheriff dead, his reputation would be made. He held up the gun, his hand shaking. He thought the man would run, shoot at him, or something. But he just stood there, like he wasn't afraid of getting shot. "Why don't you run, you son of a bitch."

"So you can shoot me in the back? That's not very sporting," Sylar joked. "Now why don't you put down the gun, so no one gets hurt."

Luke gave Sylar a wry laugh. "Right, then you can shoot me. No, thanks. I came to this dog town to earn my reputation."

Sylar only stared at the kid. "So...what's keeping you? I'm getting bored here, Luke. Go ahead and shoot." Sylar was losing his patience. It was bad enough that real gunslingers had sorely tested him, but to have this punk challenge him only pissed him off. "Go ahead and shoot. SHOOT!"

Luke was so surprised by Sylar's shout, his finger squeezed the trigger, the bullet hitting the side of the building. He cocked the gun again, nervously aimed, and this time, the bullet hit Sylar in the chest. He saw blood spurt, a red stain spreading on Sylar's shirt. But the sheriff didn't fall. Wincing in pain, all he did was open his shirt to show Luke a bullet hole, which spit out the malformed piece of metal onto the dirt. The wound then healed, the blood reabsorbed into the sheriff's skin. Luke suddenly couldn't breathe, feeling like the very air was being sucked from his lungs as he fell to the ground. He noticed the gun was no longer in his hand. Looking up at the sheriff, he saw that Sylar was now holding it. But how...

"Didn't anyone tell you it wasn't nice to point a gun at someone?" Sylar tucked the pistol into his waist, and grabbed Luke by the arm, dragging him up off the ground. "Maybe a little jail time will cool you off."

"But how did you...I mean, you just..." Luke couldn't even put into words what he'd experienced.

Sylar only laughed. Somehow, he was going to have to teach this kid some manners, or he'd end up just like him, ...unguided, unwanted, and feared.

**A/N: sorry this chapter is not very long. I had it typed up but just needed to finish the confrontation. Sylar, a big brother? We'll see. ***wink*


	15. Chapter 15

**Sylar has a new charge from an old prisoner. Well, he's not exactly old, and that's why Sylar wants to help the kid out. **

**Big Brother is here to save the day.**

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown** **Chapter Fifteen**

Sylar dragged Luke across the street, heading for the jail, his grasp tight even as the boy tried to wriggle away. "You are not going anywhere, kid, so you'd better learn to cool your heels, as they say here. I have very nice accommodations for you, a comfy cell all your own," Sylar said, all the while remembering the other Luke. That kid had attached himself to Sylar, thinking they'd be riding off into the sunset, Route 66-style. He'd told him they were not on some kind of road trip, yet the kid seemed to be having fun, that is, until Sylar showed him he was not a welcome tag-along.

"Hey, you can't do me this way. Lemme go," Luke cried, struggling against the vise-like grip the sheriff had on him.

"Have you forgotten, you drew a gun on the town sheriff. That's me. And I don't take kindly to strangers drawing on me." Sylar had to hold in a chuckle at the cliche dialogue he was uttering. But no one ever seemed to think it was odd.

"Come on, Sheriff, I didn't hurt ya none. In fact...I don't know what happened back there." Luke turned to see the blood still on Sylar's shirt. He had shot him squarely in the chest, yet the man was walking and talking when by rights, he should have been dead.

Sylar pushed Luke up onto the walkway in front of the jail. He opened the door, shoving the kid inside. Sylar took the keys from his desk drawer, and walked the boy into one of the empty cells. He had his choice actually, all three of them being empty.

As the sheriff locked the door, Luke grabbed the bars, already not caring for the impending incarceration. How long was he going to be stuck in this place? He mentally kicked himself for being such an idiot. Did he really want to be a hardcase? Now that he was locked up, his mind danced around other things he should have done. "Sheriff, I'm sorry. I know it was stupid of me to ambush ya that way. And I don't know how ya got off so clean, but I promise, if you let me go, I'll never do anything like that again. You let me go, I'll skedaddle on outta here, and you'll only see the back of me for as long as you live."

Sylar sat at his desk, tossing the cell keys back in the drawer. He tried blocking out the kid's whining as he thought about what he was going to do with him. Having to take care of actual prisoners had never occurred to Sylar when he'd accepted the job of town sheriff. He ran a hand through his hair. He could keep the kid locked up, but for how long. Or he could let him go, but he didn't want to be responsible for whatever he did next.

Just then, Doc entered the jail. "Hello, Sylar. I just wanted to let you know that..." Spying the blood on Sylar's shirt, he stopped mid-sentence. "What happened to you?" Rushing to his friend, concern on his face, Doc was ready to rip open Sylar's shirt to see what damage there was, then remembered Sylar couldn't be hurt or killed. Maybe it wasn't even his blood, he thought.

"I'm ok, Doc. Some kid took it upon himself to be a big man, and ambushed me. I let him shoot me, since he seemed intent on that anyway." Sylar knew he was going to have to go change his shirt, unless he wanted more prying questions from others. "Hey, Doc, do you mind staying here a moment? I need to go change, but I'll be right back. Kid's locked up nice and tight, if you want to go introduce yourself. I won't be long."

"Sure, Sylar, take your time." Doc frowned as he watched his friend leave. He walked over to the cells, and saw a young man, barely a man really, sitting on the cot, looking as forlorn as Doc had ever seen anyone. "Hello there. I'm Doc Wilson. What's your name, kid?"

"Luke. Luke Johnson." He lowered his head, not feeling much like talking to anyone.

"I hear, Luke, that you shot Sheriff Grey. Now, why would you come into town and do something so stupid?"

"Don't need the lecture...Doc," Luke answered acidly.

"Yes, well you should get one anyway. But I'm in no mind to be the one to do that. I think Sheriff Grey can manage on his own."

Luke stood, and wandered over to the cell door. Whispering, he asked, "What's with him anyway? I mean, what is he? I shot him point blank, and he didn't die."

"I wouldn't pry too closely into the sheriff's private life, if I were you, Luke. Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't kill you outright," Doc said, not without a small grin on his face. He wasn't really surprised at all, and was just teasing the boy, maybe putting a bit of fear into him as well. He didn't think Sylar would ever hurt Luke.

Turning to lean against the wall, Luke, a frown on his face, muttered, "He's a strange one."

"That strangeness saved the town, kid. Don't ever underestimate strange." Doc knew firsthand, the strangeness that was the town sheriff, and he thanked Providence every day for his presence.

Just then, Sylar entered the jail, calling out, "Hey, Doc, I'm back."

Doc smiled, seeing Sylar cleaned up. "I talked with the boy. No family?"

"I don't know yet. I imagine not." Sylar expected the doctor's interest, knowing what kind of man he was. "I'll see what I can do, ok?" Sylar clapped the man on the back, as they headed for the front door.

"Alright, Sylar. I trust you'll come up with something. Oh, by the way, I wanted to tell you that your house is almost completed. People are working quickly to get that available to you. You can probably start moving your things in tomorrow morning. Finishing touches can be made to the outside even while you're living there."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll get my stuff at the hotel tomorrow then." Sylar had an idea that might help Luke on his way to a better life, but first, he'd have to feel the kid out. He didn't want to waste his time, if Luke was going to give him trouble.

"See you later, Sylar." Doc smiled, noticing the far away look in his friend's eyes. He knew the sheriff would take care of things just fine.

"Yeah, Doc, later." He sat down, thinking for a moment. Several ideas floated around in his head, wondering how cooperative the kid was going to be.

Standing, Sylar went over to the cell. "Look, Luke. Do you have any family I can contact?"

Luke lowered his head. "Naw. Both my folks are dead. I had an Uncle Frank who lived somewhere in Kansas City, but I ain't heard from him in a long time."

Ok, so now that Sylar knew the kid had nowhere to go, he couldn't let the kid go free. "Tell you what. If you agree to work for me, I'll make sure you have a place to stay. One step out of line, you go right back in there," he said, pointing at the cell.

"Work? What kinda work?" Luke never had a job, and he wasn't wild about getting one now.

Sylar stepped closer to the cell bars. Holding out a hand, he let his fingers brush one of the bars lightly, electricity flying from fingertip to metal.

Luke's mouth dropped open. "How're you doing that?" When the electricity stopped flowing from the sheriff's fingers, the startled boy reached out and touched the bar, pulling it back quickly when he found the metal hot. He smiled. "That's bang up. What's the trick?"

Sylar wiggled his fingers before answering. "No trick. Just a sample of what I can do. But you know, human flesh is so much more easily damaged. Now, as I was saying. You work for me, here at the jail, and you can have my room at the hotel. The town is fixing up the former sheriff's place for me. My room is paid up through the end of the month."

Luke swallowed hard, hearing the implied threat, and after seeing what the sheriff could do, he wasn't inclined to make him angry. "So that's it? I work for you?"

When he was at the hotel, Sylar had taken time to speak with his landlady about Luke. "No, there's more. You'll also work for Mrs Lawson, the hotel's owner. Help her with whatever she needs. She's a nice woman who runs the place alone, and she could use the help. You do whatever she asks of you, understand?"

Luke didn't like the idea of having to answer to some woman, so against better judgement, he asked cockily, "And what if I say no?"

"Then you stay here. Simple. I'd advise you to consider my offer, Luke. A room of your own. Mrs Lawson's cooking, which is good, by the way. She might even bake you some cookies, if you ask nicely. And you gain a little responsibility. The people in this town are friendly enough. You might like it here."

"Yeah, whatever," Luke mumbled. But he had no real choice. Do as the sheriff said, or stay locked up for as long as he said. "What about my horse?"

"You have a horse?" Sylar asked. "Guess he can stay at the stable. Maybe you should offer to help Billy once or twice a week for his board fee."

"What? You want me mucking stalls or somethin'?"

Sylar bent close to Luke through the bars. "You have something else more important to do? It's honest labor, and Billy is a nice kid. You really have to learn to respect people, Luke. Otherwise, you'll find yourself an outcast, with no one to care about you." His eyes glazed over as he remembered his own past. Why did this kid even interest him? Because his own youth had been less than wonderful, and he wanted to spare Luke the same future. Since Sylar had no way of knowing if the modern day Luke had heeded his advice, he would do what he could for this kid. "Well?"

"Oh, alright. I agree. What do you want me to do?"

"Tomorrow, I'll take you to the hotel, and introduce you to Mrs Lawson," Sylar explained. "Then I'll show you my room, give you the key, and lay down a few rules of behavior. After that, we'll go to the stable, and I'll introduce you to Billy. Do you have any of your things there?"

"Yeah, but it's not much. I mostly wanna check on Abe."

"Abe?" Sylar asked, one brow raised in question.

Luke smiled broadly as he responded, "Yeah, my horse. I named him after the President."

Sylar chuckled, astounded that the kid would name his horse after President Lincoln. But then he'd named his horse after an asshole. He shouldn't say that, on second thought. Noah had been a good agent, too good. But he sure could be a jerk at times. "Ok, I'll go check on your horse, Luke, and give Billy the good word he has a new assistant a few days a week. I'll stop by the hotel, and see if Mrs Lawson has any dinner to spare for you. You just stay put, and I'll be right back."

"Like where am I going?" Luke muttered under his breath, as he sat on the cot. Working at three jobs would pretty much take up all of his time. On the other hand, he had nothing else to do, and this way, he'd have someplace to sleep. A room all his own. A real bed. And home cooking. How long had it been since he'd had home cooking. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here. Luke smiled to himself. Who knew shooting a sheriff would get him the life he craved, but without the bad boy image he thought he had to have. And he wanted to know more about the sheriff, like what else he could do. Surely, it was all magician's tricks, but what if it weren't. Maybe by sticking close to Sylar, Luke could conjure up some answers.


	16. Chapter 16

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Chapter Sixteen**

Sylar unlocked the cell door, and stepped aside, allowing Luke to walk out. The taciturn boy looked up at the sheriff, and waited by the door. After Sylar picked up his hat, he followed Luke outside. With his hand on his shoulder just to be sure the kid didn't run, he led him to the hotel. Once inside, Sylar called out for Mrs Lawson.

The jovial woman entered the entryway, greeting the pair. "Well, Sheriff, is this the young man who will be helping me around the place?"

Feeling Sylar's hand poking him in the back, Luke spoke, "Yes, Ma'am. My name is Luke Johnson."

Mrs Lawson smiled broadly. "Well, I'm so grateful for your help, Luke." Turning to Sylar, the woman said, "Now, why don't you take Luke upstairs, show him where your room and the bath is, then you two come down to the kitchen. I'll have some fresh-baked cookies and milk waiting for you."

Luke's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Ma'am!" He turned to Sylar expectantly, then followed him up the stairs to the second floor. His eyes scanned the hall, with it's familial photos hanging on the walls, nice family pictures representing a life he never knew. When the sheriff stopped in front of one of the doors, Luke waited patiently. Maybe this set up wouldn't be so bad after all. He'd just have to put up with doing some work here and there.

Sylar unlocked the door to his room. He entered the place that had been his home since he'd arrived here, and indicated with a sweep of his hand for Luke to come in. "I'll pack up a few things, and then the place is all yours." He proceeded to grab the clothing he'd purchased, stuffing them into a cloth bag Emily had given him earlier.

Luke looked around, and saw the bed. He went over and pushed down on the quilt-covered mattress. The springs squeaked as Luke sat down and bounced a few times. "Feels real comfy." He couldn't recall the last time he's slept in a bed. He rose and examined the wash stand and dresser, then turned to Sylar. "I don't have a lot to bring up here. What do I do with this?" he asked, holding up the pitcher.

"Mrs Lawson fills it with water every afternoon. You keep that here for washing up. The bath is down the hall. Of course, you might offer to help her fill those for the guests."

"A bath?" The boy in Luke hated having to wash up, but having the privy inside would be a wonderful novelty. As he walked around the room, he was conscious of the sheriff's eyes on him. Finally, he turned to Sylar. "Sheriff Gray, thanks for all this. I ain't never had much before. I'll work hard, I promise. I won't let you down."

"Remember, Luke. It's not just me. It's Mrs Lawson and Billy too. We'll trust you to keep your word. To have something, you have to be willing to work for it." Sylar couldn't believe he was playing teacher with this boy, but if it kept him out of trouble, it'd be worth the bother. He clasped the boy by the shoulder. "Come on, let's get some of those cookies while they're fresh."

"Yes, sir!"

The two went downstairs and into the kitchen, where a waiting Mrs Lawson had two glasses filled with milk sitting on the table. They took seats at the table, and grabbed some of the still-warm cookies from a plate she carried over to them.

Luke practically inhaled two right off, gulping the cold milk in between bites. "These...ver...goo..., Ma'am."

"Don't eat with your mouth full, young man," she said in mock chastisement. "There's plenty more."

"They are good, Mrs Lawson," Sylar agreed, before rising from his chair. He stood behind Luke and tugged at his shirt. "Up, now. We have to go the stable, and talk to Billy about your duties there."

"Can I see my horse?" Luke asked, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

Sylar nodded, knowing he'd be popping in on Noah. "Thank you, Mrs Lawson. Wonderful, as always. You give Luke a list of things to do as soon as he come back, and I'll make sure he does them."

The older woman bent low to the younger man, whispering, "Don't worry, son. It won't be as bad as the sheriff makes it sound. You just come downstairs in the morning, and after breakfast, we'll put together a list of chores you can help me with."

Sylar pulled on Luke's collar, saying, "Come on, enough of that." He looked at Mrs Lawson and winked, before dragging Luke from the hotel.

Crossing over to the other side of the street, Sylar and his charge headed for the stable. Once there, he called out to Billy, who came running. Wiping his hands on his pants, the young stable master held out a hand to Sylar, who shook it tentatively, not sure where Billy's hands had been. "This is Luke. He's going to be helping you a few days a week. Luke, this is Billy. You will do whatever he tells you to do, got that?"

"Yes, sir," Luke said, his eyes scanning the stable. He saw his horse, Abe, eating some straw, and smiled when the horse raised his head and knickered at his owner. Luke looked up at Sylar, who nodded silently. Once the boy reached the horse, he tucked his shoulder under the beast's neck and patted his head, murmuring words of greeting. "How are you, boy? Miss me? Guess what. You get to stay here, and I'll make sure you're taken care of real good."

"Billy, Luke will work for you a couple times a week. If he gives you any trouble..."

"Aw, Sheriff, I'm sure we'll get along grand, right, Luke?" Billy liked the idea of having a stable hand to help him, more for the company than anything else.

Luke gave Abe one last pat before coming over to stand near Billy. "Yeah, I'll be glad to help, if I can spend some time with Abe." Luke blushed a little when Billy slapped him on the back lightly.

"We'll figure out what days I'd like you to help out, ok with you, Luke?"

"Sure. Whatever you say," the boy answered, smiling.

Sylar thought it was time to get Luke back to the hotel. "Billy, he'll be here in the afternoon, and you can figure out his schedule then. Come on, Luke." He started for the door with the boy walking easily next to him. When they had crossed the street and were in front of the hotel, Sylar pulled something from his pocket. "Here's the key to your room. Be a good guest, Luke, and help Mrs Lawson as much as you can. If you need me, I'll be at the jail."

Luke took the proferred key with a broad grin on his face. A key to his own room. He held it tightly in his closed fist.

"Tomorow afternoon, I'll get you and take you to the general store. I'll introduce you to Miss Bowdry and get you some new clothes." He laughed when Luke's eyes went wide. He gently shoved him toward the hotel. "Now go see if Mrs Lawson needs your help. And wash up first."

"Yeah," the boy said mopily, but he as ran up the steps and into the hotel, he turned to Sylar and waved, "Thanks, Sheriff!"

Sylar shook his head, and returned to the jail, to find Doc waiting.

"Hello, Sylar. Just wanted to ask you if you needed any help miving to the new place."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll be fine. Since giving Luke my room at the hotel, I will need to get my stuff over to the house." He held up the overstuffed cloth bag. "My worldly goods," he said, smiling.

Doc sat on the edge of the desk. "So what is it with you and that kid?"

Sylar sat in his chair, and steepling his fingers, he thought about that himself. "I don't know, Doc. There was this kid I met once. His name was Luke. Undisciplined, needy, and a complete pain in my neck. But I guess I saw something of myself in him. Maybe Luke reminds me of that same kid back home."

Doc chuckled. "You have a soft spot for him. The man who took out an entire gang of hardcase killers. You never cease to amaze me, Sylar. But, in talking with him, I can see he needs guidance."

Sylar pursed his lips. "I didn't intend to become a babysitter."

"Maybe not, but he likes you, no matter how he acts," Doc countered.

"He tried to kill me!" Sylar retorted. He sighed before continuing. "You're right, Doc. Fact is, I owe the universe a lot of payback for the things I've done. If I can keep that kid from messing up his life, it'll be a start."

Doc clapped Sylar on the back. "Sure. If anyone can do that, it's you." He stood, saying, "Hey, I have to go meet Emily. Just let me know if you need any help moving into the new place."

Sylar stood, as Doc was leaving. "By the way, I'm going to bring Luke by the store in the afternoon. He needs a few things. Would you give Emily a heads up?"

"A what?" Doc knew this was probably something they said in the future, but he wasn't sure what it meant.

"Let her know we'll be by the store in the afternoon," Sylar clarified.

"Ohhh, alright, I'll do that," Doc said, laughing. He winked at his friend and bid him goodbye, exiting the door.

Sylar wondered how Luke was doing at the hotel. He wanted to check on him, but didn't want the boy thinking he wasn't trusted. Sometimes that was all it took, having someone trust you. Back home, few people trusted Sylar enough to turn their backs on him. It was different here. Maybe for now, he'd just go take his things to the house that would now be his home. The knowledge that he had a place to call home gave Sylar an unaccustomed warm feeling inside. He grabbed his bag, and headed for the stable to get Noah. When he was finished, maybe he'd go to the hotel, just to see what all Luke would need tomorrow. Not to check up on him, just to see what he wanted to get. Sylar had to shake his head and laugh at himself. "Guess I am a babysitter."

**A/N: Just a heads up that I will be finishing this story soon. I have a few others I have neglected for months and need to work on them. So look for new developments that will take Sylar down the path that leads him to...well, the end of season 3, and into season 4. Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

I do not own Heroes.

High Noon Showdown Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, Sylar left his new home, and rode to the hotel on Noah to talk with Mrs Lawson about his meals. She had been bringing in the sheriff's lunch and supper to the jail since he began working there. Now he felt he should inform her she wouldn't need to do that anymore, since he wasn't a paying guest at the hotel. He **had** planned on paying the next month's rent for Luke's stay, just until the boy was settled. Mrs Lawson said she would give him a few dollars a month on top of his room and board, for whatever extras he might need. And since Sylar was taking Luke to the general store for new clothes, he should be set for essentials. Billy said he would let Luke board his horse if he helped out at the stable at least three times a week.

He left Noah at the stable in Billy's capable hands, and went over to the hotel. On seeing Sylar, the hotel proprietress came running as fast as her short legs would carry her. "Sheriff, so nice to see you this fine morning. I have some biscuits fresh from the oven for you."

"Mrs, Lawson, your biscuits are the one thing I will miss most about staying here, besides the cookies, of course." He grabbed a couple of the warm baked goods, along with a cup of coffee the older woman had poured for him. "Where's Luke? I'd planned on taking him to buy some new clothes today."

"Oh, he's out back chopping some wood for me. The kindest boy I've ever met, that one is, Sheriff."

Sylar cocked an eyebrow. "Really. I'm glad to hear that. I wasn't really sure what kind of person he was, considering..."

"Yes, Sheriff?" Mrs Lawson asked, unaware of the fact that Luke had tried to kill Sylar.

"Nothing, ma'am. I'm sure under your good influence, he'll do just fine."

Just then, Luke came in the back door, his hands and shirt dirty with the dust from the wood. He smiled when he saw Sylar. "Hello, Sheriff," he ventured, before going to the sink to wash up.

"Ready to get to the store?" Sylar asked, finishing the last of his biscuit.

"Sure! Let me change into a clean shirt, and I'll be right down. Thanks for the wonderful breakfast, Mrs Lawson. The wood's all chopped, and stacked against the shed." Luke took off running up stairs to change.

"See what I mean, Sheriff? A kind boy indeed."

Sylar shook his head in disbelief. He was gratified that the kid was behaving, and would hopefully benefit from the life he was being given. He could avoid what Sylar had gone through, and live a happy life with people around him who cared about him. When he heard the loud sounds of Luke's feet on the stairs, he turned to leave. "Thanks again, Mrs Lawson. If you have any trouble, you just let me know."

"I surely will, Sheriff. But I don't think you'll need to worry any," she responded, before going back to her baking.

Once outside, the pair walked down the wooden walkway to the store. "So, how has it been for you so far, Luke?" Sylar asked.

Luke's face lit up with excitement. "It's been great! I slept like a baby last night. First time I've been in a real bed in ages. And Mrs Lawson cooked up the best breakfast for me. Bacon and eggs, and her biscuits...mmm mmm."

Sylar smiled in agreement. "They are the best. And the work isn't too much for you?"

"Naw. I'll get used to it. In fact, it's better than just bumming around doing nothin', you know? I'm goin' to the stable this afternoon to help Billy out. And to see Abe, of course."

Sylar was glad that the kid was adapting so well to his new situation. Maybe that meant he wouldn't have to play babysitter after all. With Mrs Lawson and Billy looking after the kid, Sylar would worry less about him.

Emily saw Sylar and a young boy heading for the store. She waited behind the counter until they entered, grabbing an order pad in case they wanted to purchase something she didn't have in stock. The tiny bell on the door rang as they entered. "Good morning, Sheriff Gray. How are you doing?"

"Hello, Emily. We've come to get supplies. Clothing, actually, for Luke here. Emily, this is Luke Johnson. He'll be staying at the hotel in my room, and helping out Mrs Lawson. Luke, this is Miss Emily Bowdry, owner of the store. She and the Doc are engaged to be married soon."

Luke held out his hand, as he stared at the pretty young woman. "How d'ya do, ma'am." He couldn't take his eyes off Emily as he kept pumping her hand.

"Luke, enough," Sylar hissed.

"Sorry," Luke whispered, his face pink from embarrassment.

Emily laughed a soft laugh, turning toward the clothing area of the store. "Now, Luke, what will you be needing today?" she asked, both men following her to the shelving that held pants and Levi's, as well as shirts.

The boy looked up at Sylar. "What'd you think I should get, Sheriff?"

Sylar inspected the shelves, thumbing through the pants and shirts. "Well, why don't I let Miss Bowdry help you. I don't know anything about buying kids' clothes."

Emily knew Sylar was telling the truth. She had the feeling he wasn't familiar with much having to do with children. "Come over here, Luke. Let's see what size you'll need, and then you can tell me what you like."

As Emily took care of Luke, Sylar wandered around the store, eyeing several things he thought he might want to buy, when he came upon a woman's pin. He picked it up, thinking Cherise might like a gift. She'd done beautiful work on the curtains in his cabin, and he wanted to thank her. He also thought he might have her move in with him, mostly to get her out of the saloon. But the morals of this time could make that a sticky proposition. He didn't want to marry her, but he liked having her around. She was already considered a whore, but he was the town sheriff, and people wouldn't look well upon his living with a known whore. He thought it odd how things had changed over time. In his day, his living with a woman wouldn't have been an issue at all.

Taking the pin to the counter, he waited for Emily to finish with Luke.

"Now you just take these in the back, and try them on. Once we find something that fits, we can use that as the guide." Emily let the curtain to the back room fall once Luke had passed through. She then went to the counter to see what Sylar had found. Taking the pin he handed her, she said, "That's a very pretty piece, Sylar. Would you like it gift-wrapped?" She wondered if it was for that...that woman he was seeing. She shouldn't feel jealous, but for some reason, she felt Sylar could do so much better than the woman who worked at the saloon. Still, he was her friend, and she kept her feelings to herself.

"Sure, you can do that if you don't mind, Emily." Sylar had noticed the look on the young woman's face. Did she have feelings for him, he wondered, even though he knew she loved Doc and was happy about her engagement to him.

"No, I'll just be a moment." She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small box. Placing the pin in the box, she then wrapped it in some extra paper she'd found.

Just then, Luke came out from the back, dressed in a new pair of pants and a blue plaid shirt that matched his blue eyes. "Hey, Sheriff, look at my fancy new duds."

The clothes fit him well, so once Emily finished with the small package, she handed it back to Sylar, and led Luke over to the shelves. "Sheriff, what all did you want him to have?"

Sylar hadn't considered that. "Why don't we start him off with 3 of each item. Do you have any boots that might fit him, and oh, a hat as well?" He saw Luke's eyes light up when he thought about getting new boots too.

"You don't have to do that, Sheriff. I mean, you've done so much already."

"Right, and once we get you all set, you can buy what you need for yourself in future, got that?"

"Yes, sir!" Luke went back to choosing a couple more shirts and a pair of pants. He also grabbed a pair of the Levi's. He smiled as he fingered the strong denim. These would last him a good long time, he thought to himself.

Emily picked out some of the required unmentionables on the counter to be packaged up. She didn't want to embarrass the boy. Tossing several pairs of socks on the pile, she began to wrap everything.

Sylar finally decided to wait outside for Luke. "Emily, I'll just be on the walk. Tell Luke to come out when he's done. Just add up everything, and let me know how much it comes to."

Slightly disappointed that Sylar wasn't staying to chat with her, Emily added up the purchases, and finished wrapping the clothes into packages. She watched Sylar through the window, not realizing until it was too late that she'd tied her finger in the twine, cutting through the skin. Yanking the finger from the knot, she sucked the injured digit until the bleeding had stopped. She silently chastised herself for even thinking about Sylar, when she was now an engaged woman. And the fact that Sylar was Jack's best friend didn't help. Emily was glad for the interruption when Luke came over with his final choices. "Find everything you wanted, Luke?"

"Yes, ma'am. The sheriff is real nice to get all this for me. No one has been so nice to me far back as I can remember."

"Well, he is a very considerate person." She finished up the bill, and handed it to Luke. "Give this to the sheriff, and tell him he can take care of it any time."

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you, ma'am!" Luke exited the store to find Sylar waiting for him on the walk. "Miss Bowdry wanted me to give you this, Sheriff." He held out the bill of sale as he balanced the packages in his arms.

Sylar, seeing the boy struggling, grabbed a couple of the wrapped parcels before they tumbled to the ground. He stuck the bill in his shirt pocket without looking at it. It didn't really matter what everything cost, since having enough money was never a problem for Sylar. "Now I want you to get that stuff to your room. Put it all away before you do anything else. Then meet me at the stable."

"We going somewhere?" Luke asked.

"Yes. I need to take something home, and I thought you might like to go with me. You don't have to, if you have chores."

"No, sir. I don't have to be at the stable until later today. When we get back, I can take care of both Abe and Noah, then get down to my work for Billy." Luke wanted to see where the sheriff lived. "I'll go take these to the hotel right quick, and meet you at the stable."

Sylar had to smile at the eagerness of the kid. "Yeah, you go do that. Hurry it up."

Luke ran off toward the hotel, dropping a package on the way. He bent to pick it up, and looking back at Sylar, managed to get up the steps without dropping any more of his parcels.

Sylar headed over to the stable, where he asked Billy to get Noah ready to ride. He thought that, one day, he should learn how to saddle up his own horse, but for now, the young stablemaster was ok with doing it for him.

Soon, Luke ran into the building, where he found Abe quietly munching some straw. "Come on, boy, we're gonna take you out today." He got the horse saddled and ready, leading him outside. As he waited for Sylar to finish talking with Billy, he noticed several men riding into town. Being new meant that he didn't know everyone who lived here, and he hoped to meet more of them because of his association with the sheriff. When Sylar left the stable with a final wave to Billy, Luke put on the new hat he had just purchased, and mounted Abe. He waited for Sylar to take the lead, and followed close behind. As he passed the small group of riders, he turned back to look at them. They seemed a bit rough around the edges. He saw them enter the stable, and figured they were just bedding their horses for the night. Maybe strangers just passin' through. That would mean more work for him in that case.

"Come on, Luke," Sylar called.

Luke kicked Abe's flanks, and hurried to catch up to the sheriff.


	18. Chapter 18

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Chapter Eighteen**

Once Sylar had arrived at his cabin, he and Luke went inside, leaving their horses tied up out front. Sylar laid the small wrapped box on the kitchen table.

While he went into the bedroom, Luke examined the front room, noticing that there was nothing personalized, nothing that said it belonged to the sheriff. But the cabin was cozy and clean. "Hey, this is a nice place."

Sylar exited the bedroom, and went into the kitchen. "Belonged to the previous sheriff."

"What happened to him?" Luke asked.

Sylar slowly went over to stand inches from Luke. "He was killed by some low life scum." He started to turn away, then looked back at the boy, adding with a warning glare. "Then the low life scum was killed by me." When Sylar saw Luke swallow hard, he went back into the kitchen, an unseen smile on his face.

"Everything looks fine. Let's get back to town. I have some business to take care of." Sylar picked up the small package and started for the front door. "And you have work to do."

"Yes, sir. I'll go help out Billy when we get back. Ok if I give Noah a treat?"

"What kind of treat?" Sylar was finding himself growing protective of his horse, surprising since he'd not been around animals much, even as a boy.

"Maybe an apple?" Luke offered.

"Sure. I think he'd like that. Come on. We should get back to town." Sylar waited for Luke to mount Abe. Riding alongside the kid sent Sylar's mind back to an old show he'd seen once called the Cisco Kid. He and his pal Pancho rode the countryside much as the Lone Ranger and Tonto did, helping the oppressed. He had to chuckle. If Noah or anyone from his past could see him now, they'd never believe it.

Once the pair reached the stable, Sylar gave Noah over to Luke, before heading over to the saloon. Luke led both horses to their stalls, removing the tack and watering them. When he was done, he asked Billy what his chores would be for the day.

Billy thought a moment before responding, "Well, Luke, a few horses were dropped off today. Go ahead and take care of them before you muck out the stalls. I'm gonna go get some more feed. There should have been a delivery this morning. You keep a watch on things, and I'll be right back," he called out as he left the stable.

"Sure, Billy, you can count on me." Luke grabbed a bucket of oats, pouring some in each horse's feed bin. Making sure there was enough hay in their stalls, he then grabbed a rake and cleaned the floors of the dirty straw and manure. Luke tossed fresh hay down, taking satisfaction in his work. He hoped Billy did too, so that he would tell Sylar how well he was doing.

Going to Abe, Luke gave his horse an apple, cooing to him as he brushed his coat of trail dust. Afterwards, he did the same for Noah. _Oh, what the heck_, Luke thought. He went over to their new charges, and gave them brushdowns, noting they'd likely had none in weeks.

When all of the animals had been taken care of, Luke took a broom and began sweeping the main floor. He was startled to see several men standing at the entrance of the stable. Luke recognized them as the hardcases that had ridden into town just as he and Sylar were leaving.

"Hey, you, kid, come here." The burly one waved Luke over. "You done with our horses?"

Luke could smell the men from where he stood, and had no desire to get closer. But he also didn't want to make any of them mad. He shuffled over a few steps, answering, "Yes, sir. I fed and watered them. I even gave them brushdowns."

The man nodded as he ran his hand over his unkempt beard. "Kid, you know the sheriff of this town?"

Luke perked up. "Sheriff Gray? He's my friend. Whadya wanna know about him?" He leaned on his broom as he started to wonder why this man was asking about the sheriff. Luke noticed the other men were saddling their horses while the big man talked to him.

"Is he handy with a gun?" The man's eyes narrowed as if he were thinking of something other than the question he had just asked.

"Don't rightly know. I never seen the sheriff with a gun. I don't think he likes them. He doesn't carry it on him often."

The man smiled. "Oh, he doesn't? Hm, nice to know."

"Yeah, but the sheriff knows how to take care of himself," Luke piped up defensively.

"Yeah? How so?" The man took a step closer.

Luke, realizing he might be saying too much, backpedaled. "I just mean he can handle himself. He's afraid of nobody."

The man took another step toward Luke. "Is that so?"

Luke was starting to feel afraid, and it must have showed. His grip on the broom handle was so tight, it turned his knuckles white.

The man dug in his pants pocket, drawing out several coins. He tossed them at Luke as he laughed. "This here is for the stable fee." Tossing one more coin, he said, "And this is for you, kid. Thanks for the information." He jerked his head at his men, and they all mounted their horses. He grabbed the reins of his animal, mounted up, and headed toward the stable doors. "See ya round, kid," he tossed back at Luke, who felt a shiver move up his spine. He couldn't wait to get done with work so he could tell the sheriff what had happened. Luke had a bad feeling about those men, thinking, not only did they seem up to no good, but that somehow the sheriff would be involved.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sylar entered the saloon, and headed upstairs. He knocked on Cherise's door, opening it when he heard her say 'come in'. He said nothing, but watched as she stood at her dresser, brushing her hair in the mirror.

Seeing the sheriff standing behind her, Cherise smiled brightly, and laying down her brush, turned to Sylar. "Hello, sweetie. What brings you here at this hour?" She slipped her arms around his waist, and pressed herself against him.

He bent to kiss her, then pulling back, said, "As much as I would like that, I'm not here for it." He pulled the small wrapped box from his pocket. "This is for you."

As a woman unaccustomed to gifts, Cherise seemed surprised and touched. She took the box and unwrapped it slowly. Opening it, she saw the pin inside. "A cameo! Oh, Sylar, it's beautiful!" She hugged him enthusiastically. "You didn't have to. You've been more than generous already."

"I saw what you did at the cabin, and I decided I'd get you that as a thank you. I thought you might like it." Just as receiving gifts was foreign to Cherise, giving people gifts was foreign to Sylar. He used to bring snowglobes to his mother, but his face dropped when he recalled the last time he'd done that, to disastrous results.

Cherise didn't notice the change in Sylar's demeanor, but went to her mirror and placing the cameo against her throat, imagined it pinned to a blouse with a flounce of lace at the collar. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said, turning to the man who had taken such an interest in her. Still, she was finding herself falling for him. She just wasn't sure what his intentions were. She went to stand before him, and reaching up with a hand to caress his cheek, she stood on tiptoe to kiss that cheek. "You've been so kind to me. I just wonder what you expect."

Pulling her to him, Sylar kissed her possessively. "I expect you to come live with me. My cabin's finished, so there's no reason for you to stay here."

Cherise lit up. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't say that."

Cherise pulled away from him reluctantly. "So you just want to treat me like all the others do. You don't respect me any more than those cowboys downstairs." She turned away and went to stand by the window, looking out at the street below. The lace curtains billowed from the slight breeze that was blowing outside.

Sylar moved behind her. His hands grasped her upper arms as he stood close to her. "Things are different where I come from, Cherise. Men and women live together without having to get married."

She pulled herself from his grasp. "When did New York City become so morally loose?"

Sylar laughed. "Why are you suddenly acting so prim and proper, Cherise? In your circumstances, one wouldn't think you'd turn down anything that might elevate your standing in this town."

Giving the sheriff a glare of fury, Cherise took the cameo and put it in its box. Giving it to Sylar, she stomped over to the door, opened it, and said tautly, "You may leave, Sheriff Gray."

Pursing his lips in exasperation, Sylar started for the door. He looked down at the box in his hand. "I was offering you a place to call your own, Cherise. Marriage doesn't have to be part of the that. If you change your mind, you know where I am." With that, Sylar left the room, the door slamming behind him. His fist tightened around the small box, as he headed downstairs.

Crossing the street, Sylar wondered how a woman who was considered an outcast from society could refuse him, when women in his time who considered themselves moral, threw themselves at him. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, he almost ran into Emily.

"Sheriff! Are you alright?" she asked, startled.

"I'm sorry, Emily. I just...I guess you can take this back. She doesn't want it." He gave the shopowner the box she had so carefully wrapped for him.

"The pin. What happened, Sylar? Why didn't she want it?"

"I asked her to live with me, and when she found out I wasn't offering to marry her, she...got angry."

Emily gave him a confused look. "Well, what do you expect? A woman in her position, looked down on by respectable society, she would love the chance to marry a decent man."

"I was offering her my protection. You'd think she would appreciate that." He ran his hand through his hair.

"Obviously, you don't understand women. You insulted her, and for someone who probably gets insulted regularly, having that come from you, well, it upset her. And rightly so. Why didn't you ask her to marry you, Sylar?"

"I'm not the marrying type, Em. It's...complicated."

"Does it have something to do with what you can do, I mean, the power you have?" She knew so little about this man, only that he wasn't normal.

Sylar thought back to all his relationships with women. If there had been anyone he could have truly loved, it was Elle. But she betrayed him, and in the end she expected him to kill her, so he did. She freed him to be what he thought he wanted to be. A cold-blooded murderer who took what he wanted from people, with no remorse. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Anyway, I...have to go. Just put that back in your inventory. I won't be needing it." Sylar turned away from Emily, and headed for the jail.

Emily watched him as he left, wondering what could have happened to Sylar that left him so scarred. At times, he could be generous to a fault, while at other times, he didn't have a clue. Shrugging, she went back to the store, where she would tuck the pin away, in its box, just in case something changed between the sheriff and his "soiled dove".

OoOoOoOoOoOo

When Billy got back, Luke told him everything he had done. Looking around, the stablemaster smiled his approval. The place did look nice. He pocketed the coins Luke gave him from their most recent customers, telling him to keep the extra coin given him by the men. "You did a wonderful job today. Can you come back on Wednesday?" Billy told him.

"Sure I can, Billy. See ya then." Being dismissed, Luke ran across the street to the jail. When he went inside, he saw a pensive Sylar sitting at his desk. "Sheriff?"

Sylar didn't look up at the greeting, but answered, "Yeah, what is it, Luke?"

Trying to catch his breath, Luke stood to the side of the desk. Trying to get his attention, he reached out to touch Sylar's shoulder. "Sheriff, I just wanted to tell you about those men we passed as we were going to your cabin today. They're up to no good."

Sylar gave Luke a side glance. "How do you know?"

"Just a feeling I have. I know they're trouble."

"From one to another, hm? Luke, you know that it doesn't matter anyway. If they start any fights, rob the bank, or do anything else distasteful to the townfolk, I'll take care of it. Have you finished over at the stable?"

"Yes, sir." Luke frowned, wondering why the sheriff wasn't taking his words seriously.

"Then go see if Mrs Lawson needs any help before supper. And wash up first. You smell like...stable." Then he winked, letting the boy know he wasn't angry. Once Luke left, Sylar spent all of two seconds thinking about what the kid had told him. He still had to decide what to do about Cherise.


	19. Chapter 19

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Chapter Nineteen**

Sylar ran a hand through his hair, and put on his hat. He was surprised at how easily he had adapted to wearing Western clothing, but he figured that his penchant for jeans and button-up shirts helped. Heading to Doc's office, he formulated in his mind what he wanted to ask Doc. Trying to lead a normal life was so new to Sylar, but he was well on his way. Except for the few times he had to actually play sheriff, he hadn't even used his powers lately. Opening the door, he called out, "Hey, Doc, it's me, Sylar. Are you busy?"

Doc came out from the back room, wiping his hands on a towel. Throwing it over his shoulder, he went over to his friend. "What's going on, Sylar? Is something wrong?" He could see the slightest inkling of worry in the sheriff's eyes.

Sylar removed his hat, and sat in a chair near Doc's desk. "It's stupid, really. I..."

Doc interrupted him. "Cherise? Sorry, Emily told me," he explained when Sylar raised an eyebrow. "What do you plan on doing?"

"What do you think I should do, Doc? This isn't my time. Things that aren't an issue in 2010 are still taboo here."

"Do you love her?" Doc asked.

"I care about Cherise, and I want her with me, but I don't want to marry her. At least, not yet. If she lived with me, she wouldn't be around that environment anymore."

Doc rubbed his chin as he thought on the matter. Sylar was right. In this time, decent women didn't live with men, they married them. And Doc imagined Cherise wanted to be a decent woman. He stepped over to where Sylar was sitting, placing a hand on his shoulder. "My friend, you obviously don't know women. If you had offered to marry Cherise, you would be giving her a new life. By offering her only your bed, she sees you as no better than the men she used to..."

"Yeah, she said that. So what do I do, Doc?"

"Go talk to her, Sylar. Maybe you don't have to tell her everything about yourself, but level with her on some things. She may understand why it's difficult for you to marry her right now."

Sylar stood. "Ok, Doc, I'll talk to her. No promises." As he started to leave, he stopped. Turning back towards the town physician, he said, "It wasn't so easy for you with Em, you know."

Doc's eyes went wide, then he started to laugh. "Damn if you're right about that." He was still chuckling when Sylar stepped outside.

Thinking he might try again, Sylar went to the store and asked Emily for the pin. She had left it in its box, 'just in case', she had said. Running over to the saloon, he took the stairs two at a time, and knocked on Cherise's door. There was no answer. Opening the door a crack, he entered the room. He glanced around, seeing none of her trinkets lying about. He opened a drawer and found it empty. It looked like Cherise had packed up all her possessions.

Sylar went downstairs, and seeing Mac the bartender cleaning glasses, he went over and asked, "Hey, where's Cherise, Mac? Her things aren't in her room."

Mac looked up, then his eyes evaded Sylar's stare. "She left, Sheriff. Took the morning stage."

"Where did she go?" Sylar asked, his hands clutching the edge of the bar.

"Said she was goin' to Denver, where the men were more...accommodating." He nervously continued wiping the glasses, hoping the sheriff didn't get angry. Things happened when the sheriff got angry.

Instead of getting upset, Sylar thanked the barman, and left the saloon. _Now what_, he wondered. He could follow her to Denver. But what would be the point. Nothing would change. It was better that he let her go. He tucked the cameo box in his pocket, and went back to the jail.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

A few days later, Luke had finished up his chores for Mrs Lawson, so he headed over to see Sylar. When he approached the jail, he saw a sign on the door that read 'Out to Lunch'. Luke figured he'd check to see if the sheriff was eating at the place down the street. Once he got there, Luke peered into the window, and saw the sheriff sitting alone at a table. Feeling a bit hungry himself, Luke went on in, and stood by the table.

Sylar looked up to see the young man, who was actually been doing better than he had expected, and according to Mrs Lawson and Billy, was proving to be an asset to the town. "Sit," he said.

Luke grinned and sat down. Noticing that the food on Sylar's plate hadn't been touched, he asked, "Not hungry?"

Without a word, Sylar pushed the plate across the table. He had to smile when the kid started gulping down the slightly cooled food. "I see you have no appetite problem."

"Oh, Mrs Lawson sets a fine table for breakfast. Guess I'm just a growing boy, like she says." He continued shoveling the food in his mouth as if there were a shortage.

"Hey, slow down. There's more where that came from. What are you doing here anyway?"

The fork stopped midway between plate and mouth. "Just wanted to say hello. I finished my chores at the hotel this morning, and don't have to be at the stable until this afternoon. You've been busy lately, and I...I just wanted to say hello."

"You said that already." Sylar leaned back in his chair, one hand on the table, his fingers tapping the wood slowly.

When Luke finished his meal, or rather, the sheriff's meal, he wiped his mouth with the napkin sitting next to Sylar's arm. "So, why are you helping me?" He bit his lower lip. "You didn't have to. You coulda kept me locked up for months. Instead, you gave me a place to live and a job, ok, two jobs. But still, it ain't nothin' you had to do."

"Isn't anything, and yes, I had to. You don't know this, Luke, but I owe a lot of people for sins I've committed over the years."

Luke looked at the sheriff who had helped him so much, wondering what 'sins' he could have done. His powers either came from God or the devil. The man was a saint, as far as Luke was concerned. "Yeah? So why me?"

Sylar though back to a year or more back. "There was a kid, no older than you. His name was also Luke. He was bored at home, and wanted to travel with me. He was a pain in the neck, but I let him come with me."

"So what happened to him, Sheriff?" Luke asked.

"I sent him home. He had...a gift. If I hadn't sent him home, I would have killed him," Sylar said as he looked at the table, his eyes unfocused as he remembered pinning Luke to the wall, the desire for the boy's ability strong, but not strong enough. Sylar left him alive, sending him back home to his mother.

Luke tilted his head, saying, "You coulda killed me too. But you didn't. Maybe you're not so bad as you think."

Sylar smirked as he stared unblinking at the boy sitting opposite him. "Never doubt for a minute that I wouldn't kill you if you had something I wanted. But you don't. Now that you've eaten my supper, haven't you better things to do than pester me?"

"Yeah, sure," Luke said, rising from his chair. "I still owe you one, though." He headed for the door. "Thanks, Sheriff. See ya later!"

Sylar watched him go, wondering why he told him all the things that he had. Maybe it was good for one's soul to be honest for a change. And Luke had already seen something of what he could do, and hadn't said anything to anyone. Sylar just had to decide what he was going to do for the rest of his time here. More than once he had stopped himself from taking the stage to Denver. Hell, he could have flown, but instead chose to stay in town. Whatever life he chose to make in this time had to be in this town, at least for now. He had Doc and Emily, Mrs Lawson and Mrs Potts, and the respect of the towns people. There was no reason on Earth for him to leave.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Luke headed for the stable, deciding to get there a little early, just to see if Billy needed any help. He liked Billy, who was only a few years older than he was. Billy had even asked Luke if he wanted to go fishing at the creek sometime soon. Luke had never been fishing, so it sounded like something fun. Maybe the sheriff would even join them. Just as Luke started to enter the stable, he saw the hardcases from before, standing around while they waited for Billy to take their horses into the stall area. Luke ducked down behind a piled stack of hay bales.

"So it's the same man, right, Cord?"

"Yeah, Sheriff Sylar Gray. He killed Rafe and his entire gang. Out and out murder, it was. I think we should pay a visit to the sheriff soon. For now, just wander around town, check things out. I wanna know what we're up against here. Is this sheriff on his own, or is there anyone who would stand up with him."

Just then, Luke had started to back out of the stable so he could run to tell Sheriff Gray what he'd heard, but instead he backed into a shovel, knocking it and him down. As he scrambled up, he felt a hand grab his collar, keeping him from going anywhere.

"Well, what have we here? The stable boy spying on our little conversation. Off to tell your friend, the sheriff, eh?"

Luke saw the big smelly man hovering over him as he struggled. "Billy, run!"

At the noise, Billy had come back into the main part of the stable, saw Luke being restrained by one of his customers, when the butt of a pistol was slammed against the back of his skull. He fell like a bag of grain to the floor.

"Well now, guess we gonna have to move our business up a mite."

"What do we do with the boy, Cord?"one of the hardcases asked, as he fingered his pistol.

The big man threw Luke at one of his partners. "Tie him up for now, real good. And stifle him too. We wouldn't want him warning anyone." He leaned down to Luke, his fetid breath making the boy wince. "You keep your trap shut, or I won't hesitate to shoot you, got that?"

Luke nodded vigorously. He let the men tie him up. Once they left, he would try to get free. Getting shot wasn't going to help him or Billy. Luke knew that the sheriff couldn't be hurt by mere bullets, but he didn't know if there was some other way to kill him. Luke decided he wasn't going to let these outlaws hurt anyone if he could help it. He struggled with the rope that bound his arms. "Billy. Billy, can you hear me?" When he got no response, Luke slid across the stable floor on his butt, until he reached the axe that Billy kept by the tool kit. Rubbing the rope against the axe blade, he attempted to cut through the rope. Instead, he cut his hand, feeling his own blood drip to the floor. "Shit!" he cried. He tried again, working with the axe, trying to free himself.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

The group moved as one down the wooden walkway toward the jail. As Sylar left the restaurant, he noticed the men heading for his office. He sighed and rolled his eyes. _Not again_, he thought. He decided this time, he wasn't going to be so nice. If they wanted trouble, then trouble was what he was going to give them, in spades. This was his town, and it was about time everyone knew that.


	20. Chapter 20

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Chapter Twenty**

Sylar headed for the jail, but rather than confront the outlaws, he stood on the walkway as the men entered his office. He would just wait until they came back outside, and greet them appropriately. It didn't take long for them to realize that Sylar wasn't there. He heard expletives issuing from inside. Leaning against one of the porch rails, Sylar crossed his arms, looking as unconcerned as he felt. When the four men left the jail, he gave them a glance, and with a tilt of his head, asked, "Looking for someone, gentlemen?"

The bigger man, Cord, saw the badge pinned to Sylar's chest. "So you're the sheriff here. You don't look like so much. How is it you were able to kill Rafe Matheson and his entire gang?"

Sylar smiled enigmatically. "He wouldn't listen to a friendly warning, and got careless. I guess he was all talk, and no substance. What was Matheson to you?"

Cord, whose hand sat cooly on his pistol, answered, "He was my cousin. I come here to avenge his demise."

"You loved your cousin so much, that you came here to join him in death. How loyal of you." Sylar was still leaning against the rail, his heart rate barely up a beat. Toying with these guys would have been fun, but Sylar found he had no interest in that anymore. It had been awhile since he'd called up his abilities.

"Naw, I hated the little weasel. It's a family thing though." Cord looked down, noticing the sheriff had no gun belt. "I see the kid was right. You don't carry a sidearm."

Sylar slowly stood upright. "What kid?"

"The stable boy across the way. He said you rarely carried a gun, and I see that he was right. Just makes my job easier though."

Sylar gave the large outlaw a glare. "You had better not have hurt either him or Billy. I wouldn't take kindly to that. People who hurt my friends tend to get hurt themselves." He clenched and unclenched his hand as he noticed the other men starting to fan out, obviously encircling Sylar.

"Is that a threat, Sheriff?" Cord's thumb hovered over the hammer of his Colt.

Sylar could smell the man from where he stood, and his modern sensibilities didn't care for the odor. "Not at all. It's a promise, one I've carried out before. I've killed a few people in my time. Blood-letting, death, they're nothing new to me. I think I've even died a few times myself." He captured Cord's eyes with a cold stare. "I just keep coming back."

"You're crazy," Cord said. "But don't think that'll save you. Like I done said, it's a matter of family honor."

Sylar was through playing games. He waved a hand as one of the outlaws tried sneaking up behind him. The man went flying into the side of the building opposite the jail. As he tried to rise, Sylar flicked his hand again, this time sending a water-filled trough into the man's gut. He died a quick, wet death.

"What the...?" Cord stood there, mouth open. He saw the others scramble for cover, and did the same, shouting, "Kill 'im, boys!"

Sylar turned, spying the hiding places of the remaining men. He waved away the townsfolk who'd heard the racket, and had come out to investigate. Most obediently went back inside the buildings when they saw the sheriff was, again, having to defend himself against unsavory elements.

Cord aimed for Sylar with his six-shooter, and fired. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that the sheriff didn't fall. He had to have hit him at least once, yet the man was still standing. He couldn't have missed that many times. Then he saw bullets lying at the sheriff's feet. This wasn't possible.

Hearing the sounds of gunfire, Doc ran from his office, and saw his friend surrounded, but seemingly unconcerned as several men were firing at him. Of course, Doc knew Sylar couldn't die from bullet wounds, but they had to hurt like the devil whenever he did get hit. Doc hid behind some stacked up boxes on the walkway, watching the confrontation. He then noticed Emily running down the sidewalk, carrying a pistol and a box in her hand. Doc rushed up to her, pulling her down behind the inadequate shelter of the stacked boxes. Clutching her arm, he asked angrily, "What the hell are you doing, Emily? Didn't you hear the gunfire?"

Breathlessly, she gave Doc the gun and what he now saw was a box of bullets. "Of course I heard. When I saw Sylar out there all alone, I thought he could use some help, if you're willing."

Doc gave Emily a quick kiss and loaded the weapon. He sent off a few rounds in the direction of one of the outlaws, kicking up dirt at his feet. The man turned in the direction of the gunfire, and seeing Doc, aimed for him.

Sylar saw Doc and Emily hiding on the walkway, and thrusting out his hand, sent a bolt of electricity at their assailant. The man rose as he screamed in agony, grasping at his shirtfront. Then he fell back into the dirt, electrocuted, a black hole in his chest.

In the stable, Luke managed to free himself from the rope that bound him. He went over to check on Billy, and saw he was breathing. As long as he was alive, Doc could help him. He heard gunfire, and knew the men were likely attacking the sheriff. If only he hadn't taken Luke's gun away from him. Going to the stable door, he peeked through the crack, and saw Sylar standing in the street near the jail, with two of the men who had tied him up firing at him. His eyes grew wide as he saw Sylar extend a hand, sending bolts of energy at one of the men. Luke opened the door just enough for him to squeeze out. He inched along the wall of the building, heedless of the few splinters piercing through his shirt into the skin of his back.

Sylar waited for Cord to fire at him, then extended his hand to stop the bullets midair. To the amazement of the outlaw, who was watching the sheriff, Sylar flicked two fingers, sending the bullets into the his partner.

As he saw his companion fall, Cord roared his anger. "You bastard! I'll kill you!" He ran at Sylar, gun pointed.

Luke saw the large man charging for the sheriff. He ran out into the street, shouting, "No, stop!"

Cord, hearing a voice behind him, turned quickly, firing off several rounds at the sound.

Sylar frowned as he saw Luke running towards him. He tried to block the bullets heading for the boy, but he was too late. Luke was struck twice in the chest. Sylar saw him, as if in slow motion, fall to the ground. "Noooo...!"

Doc, seeing the outlaw distracted, sent a volley into the man. He saw Cord clutch at his stomach, and fall to his knees, the pistol dropping from his hand.

Sylar strode over to the fallen outlaw. Standing over the worthless scum, and in his rage, Sylar pointed a finger at the man's head, now exposed as his hat rolled away in the dirt. A line of red ran across his forehead, sending the man into a paroxysm of agony, blood flowing freely from the wound. Sylar stood watching, expressionless, until Cord stopped breathing.

Doc ran over and bent to check on the man, finding him dead, his skullcap lying in the blood-stained dirt. He stood next to his killer, tugging on his shoulder. "Sylar. Sylar!", he cried, trying to rouse his friend from his stupor.

Emily rose from behind the boxes, and ran over to Luke, now sprawled in the street, his shirt red with his own blood. "Jack! Come quick!"

Doc and Sylar both ran to Luke. Doc knelt by the boy, giving him a quick examination. He stood, and shook his head at the sheriff.

Sylar knelt beside Luke. "Why did you do that? You know I can't be hurt. You should have stayed in the stable."

Emily held the boy's hand as tears ran down her face. She hadn't really gotten to know him, but she had heard from Doc the circumstances of his being in town. And she knew Sylar liked him, and was helping the boy.

"Sheriff..." Luke started to speak as blood bubbled from his lips. "Billy...Billy's in the stable, hurt."

"I'll see to him," Doc said, seeing the townspeople leaving the buildings they had been hiding in.

Sylar wiped the blood from the boy's mouth. "Don't talk."

"I... I have to...thank you. No one has been so..." He coughed once. "You've been my best friend, Sheriff. Damn, it's not fair.

Sylar didn't realize that he was crying too. All the abilities he had, and healing wasn't one of them. His eyes met Emily's as he felt every regret in his life overwhelm him in his grief. Even when she reached out to touch him, he felt as if he were apart from the world. He had tried to take the kid under his wing, protect him, give him a chance at a good life, and what had it accomplished. He'd failed the boy just as he had failed everyone he'd ever known.

Luke tasted blood in his mouth. He knew he was dying, but he wanted to say something. "Funny, it doesn't hurt much. I'm scared, Sheriff."

Sylar bent low so he could hear Luke, his voice now becoming more faint. "Call me Sylar, Luke."

Luke tried to smile but it turned into another harsh cough. "Sylar. I like...that. I never had no father or brother. I like to think you could be one or the other?"

Sylar nodded. "Sure, kid. Whatever you want." He looked down at Luke's face, noticing his eyes had glazed over, his breathing stopped. "Whatever you want." He lowered his head and closed his eyes, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his friend. "He's gone, Doc." Behind him, he saw a grief-stricken Billy, a red bump on his forehead.

Mrs Lawson came running over as soon as she had seen it was Luke lying in the street. Emily stood, and catching her in an embrace, whispered to the older woman. She clutched her chest, crying as she saw her charge being mourned by Sheriff Gray.

The townspeople gathered round their sheriff, some awestruck at what they'd seen. It was unbelieveable, but more than one witness had seen Sylar kill the latest interlopers without a gun. They weren't even sure **how** he had killed them.

One witness in particular, stood off to the side, watching, silent. Now it was time to undo what he had done, and make things right.


	21. Chapter 21

**I do not own Heroes.**

**High Noon Showdown Chapter 21**

**Epilogue**

Hiro stood by, watching as the people in this town surrounded Sylar, who was kneeling on the ground next to the now-dead boy. He had come back after leaving Sylar here, hoping that by eliminating him from the equation, the world would survive. Hiro had decided not to kill the Brain Man, but rather to leave him somewhere that he couldn't do the present day any harm. And by the looks of it, he had adapted and built a life for himself here in the past. Hiro noticed the lawman's badge pinned to Sylar's shirt.

The world was dying. Not by disease or bio-chemical warfare. Not by wars between nations. It **was** a war though, one between the people who had abilities, and those who didn't. Because of this war, the world found itself in the middle of a great battle. People died. Cities crumbled. And all because Sylar had taken control of the planet, first as president of the United States, and then, as Sylar put it, Emperor-God, Ruler of the world. But the ordinary people had fought back, in some cases, with the help of those who had abilities and didn't want to live under Sylar's thumb, even if he had promised a fair share of any spoils to those with powers who sided with him.

Having traveled to the future, Hiro saw what was going to happen. He tracked his prey to a hotel room at the Stanton in Washington DC, where he found Sylar just having tossed Nathan Petrelli across the room. He closed his eyes tightly, freezing time instantly. The Brain Man was not going to destroy the world, if he had anything to say about it.

Hiro walked over to Sylar, judging the man who would one day take over the country, after killing Nathan Petrelli. He would fool everyone, and become president as Nathan, having morphed into the popular candidate. He would remain Nathan until it was too late for anyone to stop him, when he would then reveal his true identity. Sylar would rally the Specials who didn't want to live by the rules society tried to lay down for them. They captured the ones who attempted to blend into society, or who refused to join them. Many had to be killed. Some escaped, creating civil war around the planet. Once the rebel Specials had been subdued, Sylar led the rest into controlling the "normal" people. By 2018, the Specials controlled Earth, and Sylar controlled the Specials. Hiro decided that if he took care of Sylar, Nathan Petrelli would live, and the planet would be saved.

Now that he had frozen time, Hiro placed a hand on Sylar's shoulder and both vanished. They re-appeared in a stable sometime in the 1890s in the United States. He didn't want to kill Sylar, but hoped that he would be harmless back in the Old West. He left Sylar lying on the straw-laden ground. Glancing down at the strongest of all Specials, Hiro bowed slightly, saying, "Good luck, Brain Man." Then he returned to his own time.

Once he was back in present day Washington, Hiro waited. He saw Nathan Petrelli live to become president, having avoided Sylar's sudden and brutal attack. Hiro thought that this circumstance would be better for the world. But it proved to an incorrect assumption. Traveling into the future again, he knew he had made a mistake.

Nathan had become president, and started off with a promising united Congress, having seen the major parties join together for the good of the nation. But once again, dissension between nations reared its ugly head. Nathan, in a show of strength, ordered attacks against several aggressive countries. Without a lawful declaration of war, President Petrelli managed to throw the world into World War 3. By 2014, the Earth was a dying planet, damage rampant in all of the larger cities. There was a food shortage, power was sporadic, and disease formed from unchecked sources. Hiro decided this was worse than anything Sylar had done. At least under the Brain Man's rule, the world had a chance as long as his hold could be broken. Under Nathan's presidency, there was little left in the world to salvage. Hiro decided that trying to change the future was a gamble he had no desire to make. The risk was too great.

Hiro went back to the Old West town where he had left Sylar, but he couldn't remember when he'd dropped him there. Apparently, in the time the Brain Man had lived his life here, he had managed to refrain from becoming hated by the townspeople. He was, instead, the law, judging by the dead bodies, which had the obvious Sylar fingerprint on them. Perhaps one of the dead men had killed the young man now being mourned by the town and Sylar both.

Moving through the crowd, Hiro headed for Sylar. Looking down at the powerfully gifted man, he spoke. "We must return to our own time, Brain Man."

Sylar looked up at the voice over him, seeing the Japanese fellow who had always fancied himself savior of the world. He rose, anger etched on his face, his hands loose but ready.

"Who is that, Sylar?" Doc asked, moving to his friend's side, making note of the Oriental man he'd never seen in town before.

Not taking his eyes off Hiro for a second, Sylar said, "He's the one who brought me here, Doc. I think he wants to try to take me home."

Before anyone could move, Hiro placed a hand on Sylar's shoulder. Both men vanished as Doc, Emily, and everyone within visual range stood with their mouths open. Only Doc was familiar with Sylar's origins, and so knew what he meant when Sylar said he was being taken home, unwilling as he seemed to be. If his friend had no way to return, Bowdry's Creek was going to need a new sheriff. Doc knew there would be no one quite like Sylar, and that might not be good news for the town. Doc sighed, and turned to a group of gawking people.

"Come on, men. Get this trash off the street," Doc ordered, referring to the dead outlaws. He then went to the hurt but recovering stable master. "Billy, let's get Luke over to my office. We'll try to figure out what happened here today, but for now, we'll see to giving this young man a proper burial."

The townspeople dispersed, each murmuring their own theories on the sheriff's disappearance. Not one guessed correctly.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Hiro brought Sylar back to the moment just after he had thrown Nathan into the hotel room window. He left him on the balcony when he saw through the open doors, Senator Petrelli frozen in mid-crash with the piano. Hiro bowed slightly, saying, "You will kill Senator Petrelli, but we will stop you before you destroy the world. Unless you change your ways, Brain Man, you're doomed to die, alone and unloved." With that, Hiro vanished, and time began moving forward.

Sylar came into the room, furious at being taken from his home. The Japanese man was nowhere to be seen. He raised his face to the ceiling, crying out, "Face me, damn you!" It was gone, all of it. And he knew of no way to get it back. His life, his friends, and his only hope for redemption. He saw Nathan rising from the floor. In his fury, not so much directed at the senator but at his own circumstance, Sylar pointed two fingers, slitting the man's throat. As he watched blood gush from the wound, Sylar laughed bitterly, still feeling the sense of his loss strongly. "Oh, Claire's going to be so mad at me."

Finis

**A/N: thank you, loyal readers, for following this story. It's now ended. As I went back through the chapters, I noticed that sometimes, I spelled Sylar's last name as Grey and other times as Gray. The Net showed it both ways, and I can't correct it now. So forgive that little error. I also took a few liberties with the episode, Invisible Thread. This episode, to me anyway, started Sylar on the road to redemption. **

**I hope you enjoyed the story. I have one more Heroes story to finish. Without the show, my muse has decided to leave me, so I will be concentrating on my Tron stories right now.**

**Thanks again!**


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